


I Am My Own Voice: A Collection of Stories

by Rockatanskyandroll



Category: The Blackout Club (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Death in Flashback 1, Canon Typical Violence, Cult, Gen, Mention of Character Death, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22095052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockatanskyandroll/pseuds/Rockatanskyandroll
Summary: Felicity “Fliss” Knockwood has not had an easy life, and this only gets harder when she is sent to live with a foster family in Redacre, VA. Within the first few weeks, it became apparent that things were not as they seemed, leading her to the Club and all that entailed.This is a body of works detailing Fliss’ life before and after moving to Redacre, including a selection of memories and ‘current’ events based on the emerging story of The Blackout Club.
Kudos: 12





	1. Flashback 1 - I Fear Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of the flashbacks I wrote for Felicity ‘Fliss’ Knockwood, a relatively new resident of Redacre, living with a foster family. This flashback was inspired by the news of DANCE-FOR-US’ death and the Hunter’s (now HUNT-THE-STRONG) threats against the town. Fliss is of Mi’kmaq descent, originally from Maine. She spent a lot of time living with her grandparents in Nova Scotia.

“Niskamij, where are we going?”

It was a Saturday morning in October, six years ago when her grandfather was still alive, shortly after the state of Maine had told her that her mother was not fit to raise her. Her grandparents had tried to give her time to cope, but they could only keep her busy. That morning, before the sun had risen, she had been awoken by a low, gravelly voice and a soft shake of her shoulder, urged to put on her coat and boots, and guided into the truck, where she stared, half-asleep, out the window until they were deep in the woods. 

“Shhhh, we’re almost there,” her grandfather waved a hand, his eyes still focused on something in the distance. He’d forgotten that she couldn’t see his mouth when he was walking in front of her, his voice a million miles away, but she didn’t want to comment.

He had a special way of walking through the brush, like he was scared he’d step on something, but his footsteps made no sound and never had she seen him alert anything to his presence. Even without his Winchester rifle, she was sure he was the most dangerous thing in these woods if he wanted to be. Fliss scratched her nose, trying her best to copy him, brows drawn, shifting her own rifle over one shoulder.

“Nukumi won’t be happy we’re going to miss church,” she watched as her shoes crunched in the thin layer of snow that had fallen that night, kicking up some of the white powder, “Especially to go hunting instead.”

Her grandfather chuckled at that, pausing to place a hand on his granddaughter’s shoulder, his hand firm and warm despite his age. He guided her forward, keeping her at his pace, “The forest is my church, tu’s. I don’t need to go to a little building to speak to Kisu’lkw. I don’t need to pray, I just go out and enjoy the beauty of the world that’s given us life.”

His face lit up when he talked like that, something she treasured, but she knew that her grandmother would not be happy to hear anything of that sort. Her expression must have given it away, because he gave her shoulder a squeeze and smiled again, “But don’t tell Camilla I said that. There’s not enough moose meat in the world to appease her when she’s angry.”

Fliss nodded, face giving way to a smile of her own, “You have to buy my silence, Niskamij.”

That earned her a chuckle and a quick ruffle of her hair.

”I’ll pay the price later— Here we are,” her grandfather halted her with a firm palm across her shoulders, the same way he did sometimes if he stopped too quickly while driving, “You can see the tracks there, a big bull came through here not too long ago.”

It just looked like some overturned snow to her, but she nodded all the same. A few neon orange shapes bobbed up over the rocks and between the trees, the rest of the hunting party seeming to melt out of the forest, greeting her grandfather with smiles and warm welcomes. He was well-known in the community, someone who donated his time and energy every chance he could. In fact, he had organized this hunt in Cape Breton to provide meat for the Elders who could no longer go out the way he could. 

The other men and boys, eight in total, regarded Remi Knockwood with a kind of respect he had no doubt earned; He was by far the oldest hunter here, just as she was the youngest. In fact, she decided as she cautiously examined the others, the next youngest was a seventeen year old neighbor boy. He gave her a friendly enough nod, but seemed more intent on the task at hand. Moose hunting was when a boy became a man; he’d been on hunts before, probably since he was her age, but hadn’t ever been the harvester.

The adults chattered in their language, something she only marginally understood. Her mother hadn’t really gotten to teach her and at her school in the United States, she hadn’t really had the option to learn. She could pick up small pieces of the conversation, but nothing of consequence. Their gestures toward the ground, the same trail her grandfather had pointed out, told her all she needed to know.

“Tu's, you will stay here and watch the camp. You have your pack?” Fliss nodded, patting her backpack. They had packed everything that the law required from them, a compass, hand knife, waterproof matches... It was all a part of ensuring safety. Her grandfather gave her a fond nod, patting her right on top of the bright orange cap she wore, before waving the others over. He’d track the moose a bit, then use rolled birch bark to call it to the hunters. It was a little late for moose calling, but not out of the question.

They all gathered to pray, smudging themselves and their equipment with the smoke of a sweetgrass coil, even the trucks. Though Fliss wasn’t meant to go out on foot with the others to track the bull, she and her small rifle were smudged just the same. They prayed for safety and success in their harvest and to offer respect for the moose, then left an offering of food and drink for their ancestors, to show that even if they were in trucks and using guns, they hadn’t forgotten the old ways.

She waved them off as the men and boy disappeared into the woods again, the bright orange of their vests and hats deceptively stealthy.

—————————

The sun was up, just shining over the trees when the sound of the moose call made her wrinkle her nose, distorted in her hearing aids. They were an old pair that her grandmother had given her when she had gotten a new pair. They were clunky and big and an awful beige color that made them impossible to ignore. No matter how her teachers fussed at her to wear them, she did her best to ‘forget’ them at home as often as possible. She could read lips well enough to get by, and it made her feel less ‘other’ among the other kids on the rez.

Another call and she was forced to tug them out, shoving them into her pockets to keep from getting a headache. They were stupid, anyways, she wasn’t on the hunt and once the adults were back, she could put them back in. She slumped back in her folding chair, arms crossed across her chest, scuffing her boots in the snow, eyes lifting to look for birds.

Life seemed behind a glass wall when she wasn’t wearing her hearing aids. There was still a little response in one ear, but otherwise the world would take on an eerie stillness. Oh, things still moved, but without the accompanying sounds, it just didn’t seem real. Almost a year had passed and she still wasn’t used to it, maybe she never would be, but at least out here, there wasn’t much she needed to hear.

Fliss didn’t hear the distant shouts from between the trees. She didn’t see the shape galloping across the dusting of snow, legs taller than she was, antlers twice her width lowered. A bull moose could be seven feet tall at the shoulder, ten feet if you included the head and antlers, and weigh over 1,500 pounds. This one, injured, bleeding, and panicked, was running right for her.

It was a moment of sheer dumb luck that her legs had begun to fall asleep and she’d decided to stand up and stretch them a little. Otherwise, she would have been a pile of goo in the snow, run over by the massive beast. It bellowed in pain, bleeding from its neck and flank, eyes wide and bloodshot. Fliss leapt out of the way, hands fumbling with her rifle, feeling wildly for the safety.

She’d first shot a gun when she was maybe seven or eight, and had gone through the class and everything, as was required. But shooting at a paper target and a living, breathing, moving animal was a different story. It turned, facing her, shaking her destroyed chair from a massive hoof, where it had gotten stuck for a moment. She met its eyes, seeing herself reflected in its light, staring it down.

Time seemed to slow, everything silent now. Even the blood pumping in her ears was gone as she and the moose watched one another, so connected she swore their chests rose and fell in tandem. It was hurting and angry and scared, tricked by their rolls of birch bark into thinking a cow was calling him. He charged, and her legs tensed, coiled springs ready to release, but she couldn’t move. All she could do was level her rifle and fire.

Her finger squeezed the trigger, the stock of the rifle cradled against her shoulder, jarring it with the recoil. The animal’s head was mere feet from her... She was going to die…

And then it stopped. She opened her eyes, not realizing she had squeezed them shut, and dropped her gun. The sight before her was monstrous:

The moose was crumpled only a few feet in front of her, convulsing on the ground. The middle of its forehead, just between its eyes, was a mess of blood, bone shards, and brain matter; some of it had splattered across her front, the rest of it steaming in the snow. She sunk to her knees, shuddering at the realization that she had killed it, as the first hot tears dripped down her cheeks. It wasn’t her first time hunting or killing, but she’d only ever caught rabbits and other small creatures, never something of this size. 

Up close, despite the gruesome hole in its head, Fliss heaved herself up with her good arm, hugging around the beast’s snout, its head alone nearly the same size as her. It’s antlers were longer than she was tall.

“Msit No’kmaq,” she sobbed into its fur, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, brother moose.”

Someone’s hands grasped her shoulders, gently peeling her away from it, and she turned to see her grandfather pulling her tightly to his chest, ignoring the spray of crimson across her face and chest. She pressed as close to him as she could get, hiding her face in his shoulder. Fliss lifted her head for only a moment to see what was happening around them.

The other hunters had circled the moose’s body, marveling at the size of it, calculating the logistics of skinning it, butchering the meat, the best method of salvaging the skull so they could give the lower jaw to the RCMP as required. Two of the others were creating a circle of tobacco from tins around the mooseThe boy was shaking almost as badly as she was, eyes red from crying, adam’s apple bobbing as he looked between the men and her.

“I’m sorry,” she saw him mouth, shaking his head in shame, “I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry—“

She hid her face again, clinging to her grandfather until her trembling had stopped and her sobs came further and further in between. 

“Tu’s,” she’d put her hearing aids back in once she had a bit more presence of mind, and her grandfather’s voice caught her attention. She turned and moved to stand beside him and the others, one of whom was the pipe carrier. He was an older man, second only to her grandfather, born into the position. Each time they went to harvest moose, he was always present. They smudged themselves again, as well as the pipe. As the harvester, Fliss was aided in initiating the ceremony, offering a pinch of tobacco in each direction, asking to be heard, and loading the pipe.

The strong smell of tobacco wasn’t her favorite, but she held back her urge to wrinkle her nose and instead took the offered sweetgrass blade to light it. By now everyone had circled around, sitting for the ceremony. The pipe carrier whispered to her the important things to ask in her prayer, which she repeated aloud:

“Brother moose, since the first of your kind offered yourself to the Mi’kmaq, we have hunted you with respect, made offerings over you, and treated all of your parts as sacred. I ask your forgiveness for taking your life, but hope you know how appreciated the gift of your life is. May your spirit find release as it makes its way to the spirit world. Thank you.”

The others nodded their agreement, and she took the pipe in both hands, touching the pipe stem to each shoulder instead of smoking it, then handing it to the next person in the circle. 

The boy took it, and she could see the glint of envy in his eyes, mixed with regret. This was meant to be his time, he’d fired the shot that had wounded but startled the bull and sent it in her direction. Since his initial apologies, he hadn’t said very much and looked to be quiet the rest of the trip. She tried not to make it too obvious that she was watching him as the pipe continued to move around the circle, glancing away each time he looked her way. 

When the tobacco had been consumed, the pipe carrier disposed of it at the roots of a tree and cleaned, before it was carefully wrapped and put away. They thanked the spirits as a group, before climbing to their feet to begin the process of butchering and collecting all the parts of the animal they could use.

“He wasn’t ready,” her grandfather hung back, guiding her to a chair as she shook her head, once again close to tears, “You always told me that the moose would offer himself when it was ready to. He was scared and running away.”

Remi sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze, “I know… It was… unfortunate that it went this way but you did the right thing. I’m just glad you’re safe, everything else after that is but a blessing. You’ve asked forgiveness, we’ve honored his sacrifice, and thanked the spirits with prayer, there is nothing more we could do in this situation.”

She sniffled, but nodded and gave him a quick hug, and soon he was moving to help the others move the giant, whose back half had already been skinned, sliced, and packed into enormous plastic bags. You had to move quickly, even in this cold weather, if you wanted to keep it from going bad or attracting another predator. The dewlap hung from a tree nearby, swinging slightly in the breeze, to show the other animals that their moose was harvested in a sacred way.

Fliss watched for a long time, unable to bring herself to take part in the rest of the process. They understood, she’d been through a harrowing experience, but if she was being honest… She had been scared, yes, but there had been a moment in which she and the animal had connected. They’d looked into each other’s eyes and felt an understanding that this would happen, that it could end one way or another, and that night when they went to sleep in a tent they’d brought, the remains of their hunt moved away from the camp as an offering to Mother Earth and the other animals, she decided that she’d never be afraid again. 

Something was watching out for her, no matter what tragedies would befall her, she’d rise above them and survive without compromising herself and her place in the world. Little did she know that the universe had much more to throw at her, particularly in the form of something much more difficult to explain than a simple moose.


	2. Flashback 2 - Our Kind Fear a Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fliss wanted to organize a healing circle for the DANCE-FOR-US followers still in mourning and invited THEE-I-DARE to take part. He did, and revelations were had about SPEAK-AS-ONE, the Hunter (HUNT-THE-STRONG), and Fliss herself. Following the emotional discussion, her memories of the last talking circle she had taken part in begin to resurface...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my friend, Lydia, for correcting me when my research comes up short, as well as for being so patient and kind and for sharing her culture with me so that I may share it with you. If it weren’t for her, I probably wouldn’t write and share as much as I do.
> 
> This section explicitly follows the visit detailed in this transcript:  
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/15Eu-cSzS6TKNyg_Suwn7IvEqnPF-IBFPMJ6ei1lz5K4

“You’re bleeding.”

Fliss started as a moist bandage brushed against her cheek, eyes flicking to the girl who was holding it. Viola was dabbing at her cheek, lips pursed in thought; perhaps she was still sore about not being told prior to the talking circle or maybe she was still embarrassed by what she had said. She wasn’t sure, pointedly staring down at her knees, which had dirt and grass stains from where the Shape had hit her as she tried to protect Otac, and at this point, it seemed safer not to ask.

The other girl was quiet as she dabbed some antibiotic cream on the cut and put a band-aid over it, gentle in her ministrations. Fliss opened her mouth to say something, but quickly closed it and kept her questions to herself. Instead, she jerked her chin toward Otac.

“He needs it more than I do,” he’d been chased by the Shape all over Redacre, jumping from buildings, tackling sleepers, and he _looked it_ : the tired look in his eyes, the way he favored one leg, if she wasn’t still shaking, she’d have already been over there to fuss at him for taking on so many risks. Viola gave her one last once over, before nodding and moving over to him.

“I’m fine,” he was already batting at her before she even got close, “If it wasn’t for that beckoning bullshit messing with my head, I wouldn’t have any trouble with Out-of-Shape.” There was a crash as he kicked the can tower, sending them rolling all over. Another club member, probably whoever had stacked it, gasped and shot him a dirty look. Viola rolled her eyes, grabbing him by the shoulder (which did garner a wince from him) and forcing him to sit.

“Maybe if you weren’t so incompetent, he wouldn’t even be close enough to beckon you.”

He snorted in disbelief, “Well, Next time you do the Shapesitting and get the new guy’s mind back on track!”

Fliss smiled despite herself, leaning heavily against the wooden slats of the boxcar. She wiped at the scrapes on her palms, eyes unfocused, taking in the rest of the club as they prepared to close up for the night. Her friends’ banter faded into the background, just white noise, as she considered the evening.

_“Nukumi, what is this? I thought we were having a Mawio’mi!”_

_She was five, the first time she ever saw a talking circle. People from all over Nova Scotia, and even some from Maine, had filtered in the past few days in their campers and cars for this meeting, she and her mother included. Ma’s special friend, John, had driven them in his truck. She hadn’t minded the journey, in fact she’d spent most of it sleeping, tucked between the two adults in the front seat, but there was something to be said about making the journey every time they wanted to visit. Her grandmother took her hand, a woman of infinite patience, as she guided her granddaughter to the circle._

_“This is what we do before Mawiomi’l.”_

_All of the adults had met in the community center, the folding chairs squeaking as they sat, talking idly with one another. A person walked around the circle carrying a shell with a bundle of sweetgrass and cedar with a feather to fan the smoke from the shell over the front and back of their bodies. Fliss’ grandmother went first, body stiff as she stood as straight as she could._

_"Creator cleanse me of negativity and fill me with love."_

_The smudging was repeated for her, and she repeated the phrase, glancing around. She wasn’t the only child here, not by far, but she was the only one there with only one grandparent._

_When they had left, Fliss’ mother and grandfather had still been ‘discussing’ something in tones that were meant to be hushed. It was an argument of some kind, but she could never be sure what it was about, Matilda and Remi Knockwood argued about a lot of things._

_“This is a place where we can meet and talk, tu’s. We can share whatever we want, stories, things we’ve learned… It’s meant to bring us together and strengthen our bonds of kinship.”_

_She nodded, only half understanding what that meant exactly, and led them to a pair of seats. Her grandmother was frail, skin soft and thin as crepe paper, long white hair running down her back in one single braid. She hadn’t been able to hold Fliss on her lap since she was a baby, but still the little girl refused the chair beside her, wanting to be closer. She settled for sitting in front of her grandmother’s, cross-legged, as the old woman idly combed her fingers through her hair and began to braid it back._

“Who needs jukes when you have tranq darts?” 

The escalating argument drew her out of her thoughts, leaving her blinking like someone stepping from darkness into bright light. Otac had been mostly patched up, despite his fussing, but at the rate they were going, it was possible another fight could break out at any moment. Fliss cleared her throat and they both jolted, taking a step away from each other. 

“I’m okay, if you guys want to leave. Go home and get some sleep,” they gave her matching frowns and she could only imagine what a liar she looked like, eyes red from crying, hair askew and messy with grass clippings, “Really. Go sleep in a real bed.”

Viola shrugged, not convinced but not willing to argue, but Otac paused, looking her over. His eyes paused on the light blue of the hearing aids behind the shells of her ears, as if making sure they were still there. Right… he’d heard her contemplate throwing them away. Defensively, she tucked her braids in front of her ears to hide them. His brow furrowed, but evidently he decided not to push it. He turned, eyes lighting up as they caught the newly rebuilt can tower.

The other kid caught that look too, “Wait, don’t—!”

CRASH! The cans rolled across the wood floor and the boy disappeared out the sliding door. Another soft string of profanity as the other club member set about cleaning them up once more. Fliss snorted, sitting up the best she could to slide the door between the two cars shut, giving herself a bit of privacy.

_She slumped slightly in exhaustion, feet aching as she took another hand, listening to someone console her. She hadn’t slept much in the last 72 hours between the 24 hour vigil and the stream of people coming and going. Her grandmother was still in bed, as tranquil as when she’d gotten into it, arranged to look as if she were still sleeping, hair fanned out across the pillow like a cloud._

_“Congestive heart failure,” she answered for the fiftieth time, “The doctor said it was from her arthritis.”_

_Fliss had sat by her side on and off throughout the customary three days, switching intermittently with her grandfather. Her mom had called, but evidently she still wasn’t allowed anywhere near her daughter and therefore couldn’t come. She had sent a basket her mother had woven, as well as a dress she had sewn, to be put up for auction, but her absence was clearly felt._

_As long as she could remember, Remi Knockwood had been ageless, both an all-knowing Elder, caring father-figure, and mischievous school boy at once. Since the morning she woke him up,gently shaking his shoulder, “Remi. Remi, I don’t feel right”, he had aged a thousand years. Without his wife or daughter there to keep him propped up, he seemed to deflate into a sad, small old man. Even his long braid that he kept impeccable was gone, leaving him with a short crop of silvered hair. She disentangled herself from the other mourners, her own hair cropped into a bob, and took his hand. He offered her a tired smile._

“I can lock up,” Fliss waved the others off, “They won’t notice me coming home late because… they won’t notice me.”

They trickled out and soon, it was just her in a dimly lit car, the string lights giving everything a dim glow. She glanced at the mirror, feeling her pocket and finding a light… It only made sense.

“I wanted to say thank you… again,” she paused, glancing down at her boots inside the taped square, “I’m glad that you came and… I-I don’t want to choose a Voice, or be chosen or a host, I don’t want any of that, but… if I had to choose an ally, in this fight, it would be you.”

_“What will happen to Nukumi?” they were walking from the church to the community center— their clasped hands smelling of tobacco— where the community would eat and celebrate her grandmother’s life, then hold the auction to raise funds to help support her family while they recovered. Times like these were when their people came together to help one another, it was one of the most admirable qualities that living on the rez provided. Even so, she couldn’t help but feel isolated._

_“She’s going to heaven, right?”_

_Nukumi was devout in her faith, even when she was confined to a wheelchair, barely able to move, she would attend church every Sunday. When she was in the hospital after having her hips replaced, or her shoulder, or all the joints in her hands, she would still have Remi and Fliss visit to read her the Bible and tell her what had happened during mass. They alternated talking and caring for her, from putting her neck brace on to putting the artificial tears in her eyes to keep them from drying out. The thought of her going anywhere else was… difficult._

_“No,” her mouth dropped open, but her grandfather squeezed her hand, “Listen, Tu’s, life doesn’t end with death. That’s why we say Nmu’ltes app, ‘see you again’, and not goodbye. Nukumi’s spirit is going to take a walk for a year. If she’s finished with everything on this Earth, she will move on to the spirit world. Even in that case, she isn’t gone. Who do you think the spirits are that help and protect us?”_

_Fliss looked up at her grandfather. His voice was soft and even, but his eyes betrayed his pain. He knew what he said was true, but it still hurt to be without the woman he’d spent his life with. She stopped walking, her grandfather beside her, and hugged him around the waist. He hugged her back, so tightly she couldn’t help but wonder if he thought she would be taken from him next._

_“We need to be strong, tu’s, crying upsets the spirits still on their way. We should celebrate her life and help her along to her next stage,” he pulled back slightly, kissing her forehead, and stood back up, “Then we’ll go get some sleep.”_

The house was dark as she climbed up the balcony, careful not to land too loudly as her feet touched the tile. She’d had so much practice at this from when she’d tried to be the worst foster kid she could imagine. In most of her previous homes, she wouldn’t go very far, down the street at the most. It was more important for her foster parents to know she was sneaking out, but not where she was going. They usually filled in the blanks with things way worse than she could imagine anyways.

Fliss slid her window open just as the first rays of the sun were beginning to filter through the glass, kicking her boots over to the end of her bed. She only had so much time before _they_ came to wake her. Her jackets were hung over her desk chair, jeans slipped off and under her bed, long-sleeved shirt following, and finally tucking herself under the covers as the stairs down the hall creaked. Her foster parents had evidently come home from a long night…

_Two lights remained on in her grandparents’ house, she could see it from the community center’s windows. She sat toward the end of the circle, only a few people between her and the East, who was still invoking the seven directions, holding the medicine wheel, speaking in time with the beating drum. It had been a rough six months since her grandmother’s death, an even rougher three days since her grandfather’s._

_This time there wasn’t even a basket or dress in the mail, just a somber phone call and a promise that they’d see each other soon. Fliss was left alone to sit beside her grandfather’s side, a stream of neighbors entering and exiting to keep her awake, make sure she ate and drank, try to console her. No one had been there when she took scissors to her own hair, the bob not shorn short as a fuse. As each person spoke, she considered what she would say, which burden she could set down in the middle of the circle._

_Her grandmother would never read to her again, tell her stories, teach her how to weave, braid her hair, or direct her in the kitchen to cook their favorite meals._

_Her grandfather would never take her into the forest anymore, pointing out birds and small creatures, adjusting her cast in the creek, ruffling her hair when she proudly held up one of her snares, a freshly caught rabbit in her grasp._

_She hadn’t seen her mother in two years and had been through the last six months alone, forced to watch as the life drained from her grandfather and then after it was all gone. Her mother had abandoned her and now she was supposed to just go back to Maine and be a family again?_

_Tonight, and until she got a plane ticket and could find someone to do so, every night for the next year would be spent alone in her grandparents’ bed, to keep their spirits from becoming confused and returning, instead of traveling on. An empty bed in an empty house that had once been so filled with life._

_The stick was handed to her, feeling heavy in her grasp. Any of those things would be accepted. No one would judge or question or even pity her when this was all over. Why couldn’t she lighten her own emotional load?_

_Fliss swallowed her sorrow, letting it sink down into her stomach like a stone. It would be a familiar weight that reminded her of the betrayal and solitude, something to absorb all of her negative emotions until she was ready to release them and heal. It was a wound she would keep picking at until she was ready._

_With a tight-lipped smile, she handed the stick off to the next person. Not today._


	3. Flashback 3 - Reality is a Thing of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her grandparents passed away, Fliss’ mother was able to regain custody, meaning that her daughter was to return to Maine to try being a family once more. Things don’t go as planned.
> 
> Fliss’ first days in Redacre were as awkward as she imagined they would be: creepy new foster family, picture perfect neighborhood, and a plan to stay detached from this place, to make her expected departure that much easier. Things don’t go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryder (Oxenfree) does not belong to me and is depicted with permission.

_“Young man, is there someone coming to pick you up?”_

_Fliss didn’t bother to correct him, instead only nodding and staring pointedly at the ground. At her age, with her choppy hair, it was easy for someone to mistake her for a boy. She wasn’t insulted, and in fact it barely registered in a mind that was far too busy worrying about other things._

_She’d been standing on the curb at the airport for nearly two hours now, her backpack feeling like a cement block strapped to her back, but there had been no sign of her mom. The bag handlers had been looking at her with concern for the last thirty minutes, but no one had approached her until now._

_“Can we call your parents?” She shook her head. “How about coming and sitting with us while you wait?” She shook her head again._

_A few more questions with no real answers and they gave up, muttering something about ‘the one kid who actually believed in stranger danger’, leaving her standing alone once more, like a statue. Had she really forgotten?_

_An anger bubbled in her chest, threatening to eat her up inside: mom had missed both Nukumi and Niskamij’s funerals. She had bought a plane ticket, but hadn’t answered any phone calls since. And now she was over two hours late. If it were her parents or her child, she would have ignored any laws and gone anyways. She would have been there waiting to scoop up her daughter the moment she stepped off the plane after two years of being separated. And yet… she wasn’t here._

_Once it began to get dark, three hours after her plane landed, the girl finally relented, buying herself a sandwich and using some of the money that had been raised at her grandfather’s funeral to pay a taxi cab. The cab driver gave her a curious look as she relayed the address of the reservation, but he slid the plastic divider closed and didn’t speak to her the entire trip, much to her relief._

_Fliss unwrapped her sandwich, taking a bite of mediocre chicken salad and tasting nothing but bitterness._

_Welcome home._

“Welcome to your new home!”

She couldn’t help but squint as she stepped out of the car, tinted windows masking just how bright it was outside. Redacre was a relatively modern city, all clean, straight lines and fresh paint, looking like an upgrade to one of those perfect 1950’s suburbs with cookie-cutter houses and white picket fences. 

‘One of the safest neighborhoods in all of Virginia!’ her caseworker had promised her with a smile held together with scotch tape and foundation, ‘I can’t think of a nicer place to grow up! You’re really lucky we had an opening, most kids would _love_ to go there.’

 _‘I’m not most kids,’_ she had thought, but kept it to herself. She had to admit, it was probably the nicest place she’d ever been put, but that didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want to be here. She would take a drafty house with no central heating or cooling and one else for miles but a town with one stoplight, one discount food store, and one school over this if it meant she could return to Nova Scotia, or even Maine, with her family. Nothing would change her mind, not even shiny new things like the phone that was held out to her.

“Everyone here gets a new phone,” Brenda was a well-put-together woman in her late-forties, dark hair kept in an immaculate bob, smile permanently glued to her face. She probably thought it was friendly and disarming, but every time she flashed her perfect white teeth, all Fliss could think of was a wolf baring its fangs. She tried not to brush Brenda’s fingers as she took the phone and immediately stowed it away in a pocket.

“It’s one of the many perks to living in a Chorus-sponsored community! They’re on the cutting edge of technology and they provide free housing and healthcare for their tenants, it’s really amazing what they do for us,” she tried to get there first, but Todd had grabbed her bag from the trunk and was already carrying it inside, only the flash of his sandy blond hair telling her that he’d been there. Brenda was the more vocal of the two of them and obviously in charge, leaving Todd to quietly do as he was told. He might have moved even more stealthily than she did.

“Not that we haven’t earned it,” she followed them as they led her into the house, a quaint two-story building painted a soft yellow, with white detailing and a dark green roof, “I’m a mechanical engineer and Todd is an ecological engineer. We could have worked for _anyone_ , but Chorus really sold us on Redacre. I don’t even mind not having internet access because this place is so wonderful.” 

Right. Maybe a few years ago she wouldn’t have cared, but she’d only recently found a use for the internet, a connection she hadn’t had since she’d left her mom’s house in a government car that smelled like disinfectant and was taken into the city. Other kids, Mi’kmaq and otherwise, that had the same experiences as her. They knew how it felt to be removed from everything you knew, to lose sight of your culture and history. They inspired her to be the person her grandfather would be proud of, to let go of her anger and hate.

And now they were gone, just like every other good thing in her life. 

The inside of the house was just as eerily perfect as everything else, all clean wooden floors and designer furniture. The walls bore hundreds of framed photos, each showing Brenda and Todd with different kids, all smiling and laughing as if they’d just been told a funny joke right before the camera went off. There was a pair of black twin girls, each missing different teeth, with various styles of braids; a small, dark-eyed Asian boy holding a skateboard, flashing a peace sign; a girl her age with rusty red hair and a million freckles; one boy could have been Hispanic, with a dark tan and curly hair that stuck out in every direction; a solemn-looking Indian boy who never showed his teeth but nevertheless gave a tight-lipped smile in each photo he was in. Her eyes slid across each face, each story, before settling back on the couple. 

Something was wrong here, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. For now, she reluctantly trudged up the stairs.

_The steps leading up to her mom’s house were cement, cracked and covered in a thick carpet of moss. The air was cool and moist, making her shiver as she closed the taxi door, the cab driver happy with his pay and tip as he drove back toward the city and she walked up the drive. Fliss’ brows furrowed, noticing the darkness behind frosted windows, the sign that the heater hadn’t been turned on. It had only been two years, but it looked like the house had been abandoned for two hundred._

_“Mom?” She rapped on the door but found nothing but silence, “Mom? I’m home!”_

_She pounded with the heel of her hand this time, but there was still no answer. Frustrated now, she tried the handle and yanked, nearly toppling back as the door swung open. Unlocked. Strange. She glanced around, then walked inside, flicking the light switch._

_Decorations, simple but noticeable enough to merit attention, hung across door frames and over the kitchen table, where a simple cardboard box sat with her name on it, a thin layer of dust settled over it. She called for her mom again, but there was no answer. Her heart grew a layer of ice and she called again, and again, becoming more frantic each time. She dropped her bag on the kitchen tile, running through the house, leaping over furniture, checking under the beds in case this was some kind of sick joke. She scared the cat, a skinny little thing which bolted out the open door. When it was apparent that the house was empty, all of the energy ebbed from her, leaving her feeling empty and cold. She collected her bag from the kitchen floor and left, mentally preparing for the mile walk to their nearest neighbor._

“And this is your room!” It looked like something from a minimalist catalog, some nondescript teenager’s room with neutral colors, a simple bedspread, a desk and chair, and a dresser. Nice, just like everything else in the house and the town, but lacking any type of personality or soul. She didn’t know if she would last even a week, but she didn’t want to put down roots, so empty it would remain. Brenda was still talking, a fly buzzing in her good ear, but she wasn’t watching her lips or paying much attention. Instead, she was looking out the window, watching the neighbors mill about. 

A lot of other kids here, a number of them around her age. No doubt they’d push her to make friends, more perfect stepford kids to pressure her to put her head down and fit in. Hadn’t been the first time her foster parents had tried, probably wouldn’t be the last, but she wasn’t going to give in to it.

“You can take a few days to get settled, but after that, you’ll start at Central High School,” Fliss’ eyes darted back to her foster parents, looking them over, “We thought it might be good to get your bearings first. We can take a few days off--”

“No.”

It was the first word she had said to them and evidently, it caught them entirely off-guard because Brenda stopped immediately and they both stared at her as if she had started to grow a second head.

“No?”

“No, I want to start school tomorrow. No need to take off from work.”

What kid didn’t want to skip school? She could see the cogs working in their heads, trying to connect the pieces in a way that made sense but coming up with nothing. They tried to argue, but there weren’t many good points to make, so for now they left her to unpack her things and settle before dinner. She moved slowly, filling a single dresser drawer with the clothes she had salvaged from her mom’s house -- before it was all packed away in the storage unit or sold at an estate sale she wasn’t allowed to stay for -- and set a few framed photographs on the desk.

Her mom when she was in high school, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a uniform, face intent as she moved to set a volleyball; her, her grandfather, and the others on her moose harvest, posing with the slain bull, all present looking shaken, but safe; her grandparents’ wedding photo, a faded sepia piece of two young people who vaguely resembled the elders she had grown up with holding hands side-by-side; a picture of the four of them, her mom and grandmother and grandfather, from when she was a baby, sitting in her grandmother’s lap with her mom and grandfather on either side of her wheelchair, all smiling aside from her, whose dark eyes were intently focused on something behind the camera.

Until she was old enough to return to Maine and open up that unit, this was all she had left of them. Their corners were bent, and the glass of the frames had broken at least two moves ago, but she treated them with the utmost respect and care. They kept her company each time she was moved, watching over her, even if they couldn’t do much for her in the government’s system. With a sigh, she kicked off her boots, letting herself fall onto the pressed sheets of the bed and closing her eyes.

_“You can stay in this room for now.”_

_Her neighbors could barely recognize her, she’d grown so much since they’d last seen her, but they didn’t mind letting her stay while a police report was filed. It wasn’t surprising for Matilda to work late shifts or to fall asleep at a friend’s house after a long day, but it had been nearly a week since they’d last seen her and it hadn’t quite registered until her daughter had arrived at their doorstep. They welcomed her warmly, but there was an edge there, something everyone tread gently around not to disturb._

_“She had been talking about it for weeks,” they told her when she asked if her mother had just abandoned her, “She was so excited. She wanted to throw a party, invite everyone to make you feel welcome again. After her parents… Well, it had been a difficult time, but at least she was getting you back.”_

_It was like a kick in the stomach, to know that she hadn’t been abandoned at all, that her mother had wanted her and was excited to see her again. She thanked them politely, as she’d been raised, and retreated. Once she was alone, it took all her will-power not to cry into the pillow of the spare room she’d been provided, remembering what her grandfather had told her about confusing the spirits. Given he was one now, she didn’t want to be responsible if he or Nukumi got lost._

_She wondered now what their house looked like, empty save for the lights left on and the friends of theirs who offered to sleep in the bed while she was resettled in Maine. She had been under the impression that they’d return soon enough to take care of everything, but… Now she wasn’t sure. After a night of fitful bursts of sleep, filled with images of empty houses and wandering specters, she was woken up to a hearty breakfast and sat in the backseat to drive into town._

_She’d never been a big child, but never had she felt as small as when she sat alone, waiting to hear if anyone had seen or heard of her mother in the past week. It made something as simple as a drive to the police station seem like scaling Mount Everest. And that was before she was inside, being asked questions by a man in a blue uniform with a big shiny badge that made her flinch away and her words catch in her throat. The last time she’d spoken with the police, they’d taken her away. Maybe this time they aimed to take away her mother._

“Is that your mother? You look just like her!”

She hadn’t been quick enough to close her bedroom door before Brenda could slip inside, and now the woman was cooing over her one piece of home in this strangers’ house, asking her all sorts of questions that made her cringe. Her tongue stuck stubbornly to the roof of her mouth, refusing to grace this invasion with any type of response. Evidently used to the silence, her new foster parent plowed ahead. 

“Ohhh, you used to have such beautiful hair, I don’t know why you’d cut it! You _have_ to let me braid it for your first day of school, or at least put it up, I think I could do wonders with--”

“No.”

Brenda physically recoiled, as if she’d been struck, that one word holding enough force to stop her dead in her tracks. Her smile this time was strained as she tried to backtrack.

“I-I mean-- Your hair is still beautiful now, I just think if you could let me--”

“ **No**.”

Her brow furrowed, leaving a tiny divot between them, but she didn’t have the chance to try to get another word in edgewise as Fliss swung her backpack over a shoulder, maneuvered past her, slid out her door, and hustled down the stairs. Maybe there was a bus, or maybe Todd was supposed to drive her, but she didn’t mind walking if it meant she could get a little time to herself. 

Her first night had been a fitful one, and what little sleep she had gotten had been filled with weird dreams of orange lights and some type of sleeping giant beneath town. Fliss stared in awe at the inside of its chest, lungs inhaling and exhaling, a heart of red carpeting pumping with a heartbeat that vibrated through her entire body. Tiny creatures, white with one red eye in the center of their foreheads, scuttled through its bones and veins like a colony of ants. When she woke up, in a strange kind of way, it had felt _real_. 

But it wasn’t. She walked down the sidewalk, watching the adults get into their cars with cups of coffee, kissing their spouses goodbye, packing babies in carseats in to take them to the daycare center down the road (‘Always Growing’ or something like that), and sending their kids off with brown paper bagged lunches and hastily put together folders of homework. 

She fell into step behind a group of those kids, small pieces of their conversation floating back to her as they walk. Homework, gossip, which teachers they thought were dating, it all seemed so _normal_. This place couldn’t be real, could it? It seemed more like what a YA fiction author would imagine a town full of teenagers to be like than the real thing, at least from her experience. By the time she entered the main office, she was almost fully convinced that this whole thing was some kind of fever dream.

“Knockwood. New student,” it was so easy to fall back into her old ways, the sullen new student who spoke as little as possible. The secretary didn’t bat an eye though, instead launching into a script about Central High School and how wonderful it was. How diverse it was. How progressive it was. Fliss couldn’t help but roll her eyes, wondering just how common new students were, but accepted her map and blue schedule without comment. When the woman offered to take her to her first class, she shook her head. In a new place like this, getting lost wasn’t so bad, just an excuse to start learning her way around.

_She had never felt so lost in her life. They had spent two days combing the woods near their house, checking around her mom’s work, her friends’ houses, near town, far from town. Where could one person disappear to in a town this small? Her face was on posters and flyers that Fliss helped to pass out, but it wouldn’t do much when everyone already knew her and still had no information. By this time, she wanted to believe that Matilda would still turn up, but doubt had begun to gnaw at her and the police had already started looking for family to take her in._

_She had none and she knew it, which meant… Well, she wasn’t sure what it meant, but it wouldn’t be long before they removed her from her temporary lodging and sent her somewhere. She’d heard the horror stories, her grandmother had talked about it before; the residential schools and the way they scooped up children and put them in places where they were taught to hate themselves and their people, forced to abandon their language and religion and instead embrace the Queen’s English and the Catholic Church. It had always sounded like the boogeyman: scary and meant to keep kids in line, but not real enough to really hurt them. Now it seemed to loom over her, a very real possibility in her mind._

_She did not cry when they came for her. Did not fight or sob or beg. She simply lifted her chin and got into the government car, waiting stoically to arrive at the place of her grandmother’s nightmares. Maybe there wasn’t shame in being scared, but something burned in the pit of her chest to keep her from falling into the icy pool of despair, something that growled at the world that seemed to want to keep her small and miserable and curled protectively around her. Anger hissed at her fear and misery and kept it at bay, glaring at the caseworker who lied that they’d find her mom and offered her someplace foreign to stay in the meantime. Spite whispered in her ear to survive against all odds. Tenacity told her that when this was all over, she’d return and pick up the pieces of her life to make something better with them. For now, all she had to do was wait._

Fliss was sick of waiting. She scuffed her shoe against the green and black tiles, glaring at the door as if it was the one who told her to stay outside while she was introduced. Why did she even need to be introduced? Were these kids so isolated that they needed to be introduced to other, outside kids through a door? Like you were supposed to do with cats? She didn’t need a grand entrance, things would have been better if she’d entered with everyone else and simply been pointed to a seat and given the day’s work without fanfare.

The door opened, the Chemistry teacher waving her inside. All of the kids looked at her with vague disinterest, just as excited for the whole ordeal as she was, as the teacher announced asked her to introduce herself. The muscle in her jaw twitched, but she kept her annoyance in line. Not knowing that they’d been saved from a notoriously bad attitude, their teacher decided that the silence had dragged on long enough.

“This is Felicity! She just moved here from Maine!” Pennsylvania, actually. She’d been moved from Maine almost immediately, then had been tossed from one part of New England to another before they decided to give the area a bit further south a chance, “I hope that you make her feel welcome here in Redacre.” 

They looked eager to do anything _but_ that. Most of the kids were staring at their hands like they were the most interesting things in the world, with one or two giving her a look like she was something that they didn’t want to step in, lest she get stuck to them. The kid she sat beside, a husky boy with dyed red hair and a septum ring, managed to somehow give her both looks at the same time. He shifted away from her, fingertips brushing the headphones around his neck as if he could somehow use them to create a forcefield around himself. 

He looked like trouble, but she couldn’t quite decide if he was her brand of trouble or not.

“Ryder, you know better than most what it’s like to be the new student,” he made a face, “Why don’t you get Felicity caught up?”

Their eyes met, but while his darted away, hers held steady. The teacher had already moved across the room to start writing on the board, leaving their table near the back alone. The kid, Ryder, was chewing the inside of his cheek.

“It’s Fliss.”

His attention darted to her, brows lifting. Noticing her looking at him, he grunted and begrudgingly turned toward her as if there was anything else in the world he’d rather do.

“What?”

“My name’s Fliss. Not Felicity.”

“That’s a weird name.”

“So is Ryder.”

His expression shifted into a scowl, before one corner of his mouth pulled into a sneer, “No it’s not, what the fuck do you know?”

“I should ask the same of you.”

Her even tone seemed to make him even more annoyed and he opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off, pointing to the worksheet that sat on his desk.

“Stoichiometry, huh? Not too hard… You got this one turned around though.”

He was looking at her closely now, like she was a particularly hard puzzle that he wasn’t sure was worth the effort of even trying to solve. He tapped his pencil against the tabletop, before brusquely sliding the paper her way.

“Like homework even matters anymore. _Fine_ . Show me then, _Fliss_.”

She shrugged, holding out her hand. He dropped the pencil in her hand, watching her as she carefully erased his equation, starting to rework it. A few moments of silence, before she cleared her throat softly, noticing him look at her again out of the corner or her eyes.

“Has this town always been… You know…”

“ _Sketchy as fuck?_ ”

“Not my choice of words, but yeah.”

“As long as I’ve been here. Goes back to the founding. It’s like... the Matrix before you take the red pill… Fuck, might be nicer, actually.”

“What?”

He paused, taken aback by her genuinely confused tone. She stopped writing, looking over at him.

“Y’know? The Matrix? The movie? With Keanu Reeves and all them?”

She considered him for a moment, before shaking her head and returning to their work.

“I guess I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t seen it. I’ve never really watched much TV and it doesn’t seem like my type of movie.” 

His facial journey moved into disbelief, like she’d said that she ate thumbtacks for breakfast.

“So… What? Romcoms? Documentary stuff? What kinda shit you watch, then?”

A shrug.

“I don’t know, I haven’t really watched many. Kind of seems like a waste of time to sit around and stare at a screen.”

He threw her a look she couldn’t quite decipher, but she thought she caught a microsecond of approval that flashed across his face, “I mean, yeah. But fucking weird opinion for a kid.”

Another shrug.

“Then I guess I fit into this weird fucking town.”

“ _Language_ , Miss Lockwood,” their teacher had somehow ignored Ryder completely and zeroed in on her. She made a face, muttering her _actual_ last name before sliding the paper over to her new partner, who looked irritatingly smug.

“You don’t even know the half of it, it’s-” he paused and glanced around the room, like he was suddenly questioning if his voice was too loud, paranoid that someone might have been listening, “It’s kind of… its own thing. Out in the middle of nowhere, no internet or phones or TV besides what Chorus provides. Takes a while to get used to it.”

Fliss made a face without looking up from their paper; couldn’t make it too obvious that she thought he was hiding something.

“Well… I guess… Maybe someone should show me that Matrix thing. You know, to give me a good idea of what to expect.”

Ryder opened his mouth to say something, but she stood before he could, carrying their paper to the teacher’s desk to be checked. When she returned, he was watching her carefully, arms crossed over his chest.

“I got a copy kickin’ around. You could… I could show you, maybe. I live close, just a few blocks over. The teacher’s a nag, but she’s right; I know it’s no fun playing new kid.”

He said it like he wasn’t convinced it was a good idea, but it didn’t stop him from letting one corner of his mouth lift into a crooked grin. Fliss felt her own mouth do the same, her first smile since arriving in Virginia.

“Sounds like a plan.”


	4. No More Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HUNT-THE-STRONG has been named and no longer wishes to no longer hide in the shadows. However, this means no one else can either. Following their trial of strength, a group of club members - including Fliss, Jessy, Otac, and Viola - return to the boxcar to process what just happened.  
> While sending a Light of Rebellion, Fliss is reminded of her past experiences with bullies...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jessy (Shayu), Otac (Otackozoy), and Viola do not belong to me and are depicted in this story with permission.  
> This story follows the events depicted in this transcript:  
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1RbRCTB4svIGUsdNFIjCT8Vv_r1FqqoIRncX3DdErg5A

“ _What was that?”_

Viola’s voice was buzzing with barely contained adrenaline as she shoved open the boxcar doors. In fact, her whole body was still awash in it, hands shaking, lips pulled into a manic smile. Looking into her eyes, Fliss could see the wheels turning, feverishly trying to figure out _how_ the Hunter had done it, not _why_ or _how to stop it._ Instead, she paced the length of the hideout, mere seconds from jumping up onto the tables.

Fliss didn’t respond, pulling herself in after her, her own mind at work. She and Otac, who had paused as they rounded the corner, furiously scrubbing at the blood that had dripped from his nose and ears during the trial. Evidently he took his promise not to return to the boxcar bloodied very seriously. She couldn’t fault him for it, she’d been the one to make him promise, but… She grimaced, deciding not to comment and instead offering the fourth member of their group a hand.

“A new trick, I’d guess,” Jessy hesitated to take the help, but grabbed onto Fliss’ wrist, pulling herself up, “Another thing to hide himself behind, like the coward he is.”

Her grip on Fliss’ arm was tight, and though she pulled away quickly, she could see the girl was shaking. Despite her nonchalant tone and an air of defiance, it was obvious the encounter had affected her far more than she wanted to acknowledge.

“Cheating is what it was,” Otac had finally caught up, flecks of dried blood crusting his sleeve, dotting his face and neck, “Another Voice cheating, so we can’t fight them properly,” he grit his teeth, hissing, “Next time, though…Fliss needs stage time. Talk. Maybe it works. Otherwise I might have the most horrible idea to deal with him.”

He caught her eye, but she didn’t want to betray her own anger at the situation; the last thing they needed was to make things even more heated. Jessy crossed her arms defensively over her chest, leaning against the wardrobe as Viola paused her pacing, eyes darting between the other three kids. She’d figured it out first, and had gotten out with the least amount of damage.

“He made us bleed! Without touching us!” She dabbed a bit of the blood that had dripped from her nose with her finger, “And then when I walked in the light, it stopped! Do you think he can do just that? Or more? Oh man, I can’t wait to see him again—“

“What? So he can try to kill us again?” Otac looked seconds from storming out to try and hunt the Voice down, “We need to fuck him up before he gets us killed! I refuse to die in Redacre! Because Reasons.”

Fliss let their discussion fade into the background, slowly beginning to drift toward the other car, fingers flexing until they found the lighter in her jacket pocket. She slid the door open without a word, flicking the lighter open and closed as she walked up to the mirror. She licked her teeth, tasting blood, and set the lighter down, stepping back so as to not take her eyes off her reflection. Her eyes fluttered closed, almost reluctantly, as she began her ritual.

“You tested us tonight, HUNT-THE-STRONG,” his name drew a hiss from her, “You tested us and we passed. All four of us survived despite your challenge and we will continue to do so as long as we work together. I don’t hate you yet and I still want to just… talk, but… You’re making it hard not to hold a grudge.”

_“Hey Pocahontas, where are your braids, huh? Where’s your hair?” She was small, even for an eleven year old, and it was easy for the boys bigger than her to shove her around if they so wanted, like at this very moment in the courtyard, during lunch. This one had eyed her up from her first day, called her a ‘faggot’ thinking she was a boy with her choppy hair and over-sized hunting jacket. She mumbled to him and his friends that she was a girl, but that hadn’t seemed to change anything, they still needled at her when no one was paying attention._

_He’d come from her bad side, so she hadn’t heard him until it was too late. Maybe he’d figured it out, maybe it was just dumb luck, but by the time she’d realized he was coming, he was standing above her on the stone bench, hands clutched tightly around a turkey sandwich in a plastic bag. From her angle, she could see the blonde peach fuzz on his upper lip. He was too old to be in her class, but maybe that was why he lashed out like this. He dug his elbow into her side again, making her squirm, but she refused to acknowledge him. She could see his friends and their girlfriends sitting at their table across the way, watching like vultures. Their mouths were moving, but she didn’t need to hear them to know what they were talking about, their eyes spoke enough for them._

_Fliss looked up at her tormentor and clenched her jaw shut, zipping her lunchbox shut, sandwich still in hand, and standing. She didn’t have to just take this, someone had to be around. She craned her neck, looking for an administrator or teacher, but saw no immediate help. Making a face, she turned her back on him, moving toward the door of the nearest hallway._

_“I asked you a question, dyke,” a rough shove and she fell forward onto the concrete, hands and knees catching her, sandwich falling to pieces, “Talk.”_

_Exhaling sharply, she sat back, examining the scrapes on her palms, the first spots of blood beginning to ooze underneath the pebbles that had stuck into her skin. Her knees stung with the same pain, but she wiped them off the best she could as she stood. Her pace toward the doors quickened, shoving the door open and sprinting down the hall, trying to get to the nearest adult she could find._

_A hand cupped the back of her head and shoved her, hard, into the row of lockers, her head connecting with a loud ‘bang’. Stars flashed behind her eyes, entire world shuddering with the impact. She groaned, pressing a hand to the warm, quickly swelling spot on the side of her head. A leg swung into view, too quick for her to prepare herself, and the breath was forced out of her chest by the shin that connected with her stomach. She wheezed, a sliver of air working its way down her throat and choking her._

_“Next time I talk to you, you better say something back,” he crouched above her, hands resting on his knees, expression dark, “It’s only polite.”_

_He left her there, shaking on the ground, until she caught her breath, sitting on the tile as the bell rang. Students flooded the halls, stepping impassively over her until she could wobble to her feet._

_“I’m not feeling well,” the teacher looked her over with weak concern, eyes pausing on the bump growing on her head, “I had a dizzy spell and fell… Can I go to the nurse?”_

_Two days at home, lying about stomach pains and illness to her foster parents. They cooed and clucked over her, but nothing seemed amiss. She had a medical history, they had read her file before they’d agreed to take her in. She pretended to sleep or actually slept for most of that time, brain working over the reality of the world, wondering who has sleeping in her grandparents’ bed, wondering if the spirits of her family were watching this happen and doing nothing._

_The day she returned, she waited until after PE, just before lunch, to approach the boys, hands clasped behind her. She was a quiet kid, but well-behaved, so no one looked at her especially closely after the first week. Eyes met hers from across the courtyard, but the group remained where they were, waiting for her to approach. Their leader, her tormentor, stepped forward with a smirk._

_“Have something to say this time, Pocahontas?”_

_Her mouth pulled down into a deep frown, but she didn’t answer. His expression soured._

_“I thought I told you--”_

_The bat was faster than he could react to, a battered aluminum thing that had been used for so long, and identifying markers had been worn from it, the grip replaced peeling athletic tape. It caught him in the side, making him squeal with pain and crumple. His friends gaped in shock, too surprised to stop her as she stood over him, lifting the bat above her head for the second strike._

_“I don’t,” third strike, “have any--” fourth strike, “thing to say,” fifth, “to you.”_

_She didn’t notice the crowd around them, hooting and howling. Someone grabbed the end of the bat, but she yanked it from their grip, waving it wildly to keep them from trying again. Someone else shouted over the noise and she felt arms wrap around her waist, lifting her into the air. She kicked and struggled, receiving a grunt for her efforts as she was carried away by the school’s resource officer, a few administrators working to push back the spectators, one crouching over the unconscious boy to check his pulse._   
  
  


When she finally finished, she opened her eyes to see Viola and Otac behind her, posing as was traditional, with Jessy between them, confused but taking part anyways. A smile fought its way to her face as she turned to face them and stepped out of the square.

“I guess now we just wait? We should probably tell THEE-I-DARE, too…”

Otac lifted his own lighter, moving into the square she’d just vacated, “I’m on it.”

She took her place beside the other two girls as he set his light, taking a deep breath.

“Fliss?” He glanced over his shoulder at her, “Can I mention you?”

She saw the other two in the room glance at each other in confusion before looking to her, equally perplexed. She shrugged.

“Sure?”

He nodded and lit the ritual, eyes closing. Once again, they posed as was tradition.

“Tonight, you already got a light from the Voice of Reason on this matter, but… He attacked Fliss. I mean he attacked all of us, but, like, he attacked _FLISS_! That can't be right...."

At her name, her arms dropped, brows knitting. As if knowing that she’d disapprove, Otac immediately turned to face her, hands up as if he needed to create space between them. Just in case.

“You agreed!” His smile was nervous, “I asked and you agreed, you cannot get mad at me!” 

He was right, but that didn’t mean she liked it. She lifted a finger, pointing at him… then dropped it, simply turning on her heel and walking away.

“What about us?” She heard Jessy grumble as she passed, close enough to her good side to catch. Viola said something in response, but by that time she was flinging the boxcar doors open.

_“She attacked a boy with a baseball bat, completely unprompted,” she sunk lower in her seat, her foster mother pressing a hand to her chest in shock, “We have multiple students who witnessed this. I’m sorry, but we cannot allow that kind of behavior in any context. She cannot come back to this school.”_

_The principal looked as if it pained her to say that, but the resolve was there. Everyone felt bad for ‘troubled foster kids’, but it was only when they acted out that anyone actually paid them any mind. Her foster dad sat up, moving beside her chair and brushing her hair aside to show off her bump. It had started to go down, but was still obvious and tender enough that she winced._

_“I’m sure it wasn’t unprompted, she came home with this and scrapes and bruises,” his voice was ice, “She won’t tell us what happened, but I suspect it may have been that boy.”_

_The principal made a face, “She’s lucky his family isn’t pressing charges! If there was bullying on this campus, someone would have reported it. Felicity should have said somethin--”_

_“She came home like this! Where are your teachers when this happens?!” Fliss’ foster mother stood, taking her hand and leading her out of the office, but she could still hear his voice get louder behind the closed door. She was led out to the car to wait, eyes fixed on the ground to avoid having to see the judging stares of her peers._

_They’d seen it happen and had done nothing. The adults had done the same. By the time her foster dad got to the car, his face was red, slamming the door behind him and struggling with the seatbelt. He was suspiciously quiet on the ride home._

_A few days later, she was moved out of the state of Massachusetts._


	5. Healing is a Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night Fliss and Otac set out to introduce his younger sister, Kleo, to running missions for the club, the group receives a mysterious, unexpected text, followed by another (now familiar) trial.  
> Upset and struggling to control her rage, Fliss decides that it’s time to embrace her past through a private forgiveness ceremony. The results are... mixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otac (Otackozoy) and Kleo (SirKleo) are not mine and are depicted with permission.  
> This story follows the events of 12/30/2019, in which Unknown Caller afflicted the group with the ‘No More Shadows’ status. There is no transcript because the interaction was so short (one single text).  
> The song sung and hummed can be heard here: https://youtu.be/QLPigQimMRs
> 
> For those wanting to learn more about the forgiveness ceremony depicted, Wabanaki Collection has a selection of videos explaining important Mi’kmaq traditions: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCneV2YcP7LQVJUUoMZLVxlQ

“Where are you heading, kiddo?” Todd’s voice made her pause, but her resolve only strengthened under his scrutiny. Fliss’ arms tightened around her bag, where she’d stashed her supplies (rudimentary at best, just a lighter, a braid of sweetgrass meant as decoration she’d found in a craft store, some spare newspaper, a tin of chewing tobacco that she’d traded an insane number of snacks and a few favors to get) as she turned to square herself before her foster parent, who was looking at her with frustrating patience and affability. It really pissed her off how good they were at acting like concerned parents when all they were here to do was brainwash kids into the community. Her eyes slid across the wall of photos, before returning to her foster dad’s face.

“I’m going over to Ryder’s house,” the lies fell off her tongue so easily, it was a wonder she _ever_ told the truth, “He promised to show me more American pop culture, stuff that I missed out on when I was living on the rez,” he shifted, uncomfortable whenever she mentioned her previous life, “Like… Jurassic Park and stuff like that.”

He pursed his lips, what she’d learned meant he disapproved but wasn’t going to voice his opinions (living with Brenda did that). He’d taken one look at Ryder and immediately deemed him a troublemaker (fair), but the fact that Fliss had made a friend and seemed to be settling into the town was enough to make him hold his tongue. 

“Well,” he was struggling a bit, pasting his smile back on and nodding his head, “Do you need a ride?”

She shook her head, hurrying to the closet. They’d bought her a new winter coat for Christmas, supposedly to replace her old hunting jacket, which she pulled on to keep him placated. They didn’t need to know that she had no intentions of getting rid of her old clothes, which were safely tucked away in a box under her bed. She’d move them to the boxcar soon enough, so they couldn’t mysteriously ‘disappear’ while she was out. She lung her bag over a shoulder, moving toward the door.

“I know it’s winter break, but don’t stay out too long, alright? And text us when you get there and when you are heading back,” her foster parent was still hovering closely behind her, “We like to make sure you’re safe.”

She waved a hand dismissively without looking back, “I’ll be alright. Thanks.”

“Hey, dad?” a voice called from the kitchen, one of the previous foster kids who had returned from college, “Do we have any syrup?”

And the door closed behind her.

Ryder’s house was the opposite direction she was headed, but there wasn’t much point in trying to cover her tracks; if her foster parents wanted to know where she was during the day, they had ways of finding out, but so far they hadn’t commented at all, meaning she wasn’t going to put in the effort until she had to. The Redacre woods were pretty empty in the coldest days of winter, a light dusting of snow enough to keep people indoors where it was warm, meaning that no one would bother her out there. 

When she had a good pile of tinder, Fliss decided to take a quick break, finding a log to sit on while she checked her phone. The Club was texting, as per usual, and it was just something to pass the time as she scrolled through the flurry of messages after the night before. Her thumb hovered, then reluctantly tapped the screen, opening the fateful message.

**Unknown Caller:**

**FLISS. OTAC. SIRKLEO. NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS NO MORE SHADOWS**

Her grip tightened on the device, remembering the shock and then the pain as the shadows had seemed to tighten around her, blood vessels blooming inside her. Knowing what she was in for this time, her phone’s flashlight had been enough to keep her from bleeding. She’d furiously texted a reply back, but there was no answer.

**Me:**

**Leave the UC alone!**

**Otackozoy:**

**Why?**

**Me:**

**Otac! Protect the Weak!**

_“Flashlights out because der blöde Penner hat uns schon wieder verhext mit seinem Bullshit!”_

_Otac’s voice rang out from beneath her as she climbed the rafters in Instrument Supply, loud enough in his anger to overcome the blood pumping her ears. From here could see a Sleeper in Ingestion pausing, ‘looking’ for the noise, but they were all moving too quickly to stay in place for too long._

_“He targeted my sister!” He’d kicked down the can stack when they returned to the boxcar, pacing like a caged tiger looking for its escape, “My little sister! With that cheating bullshit!”_   
  


Kleo had been running her first mission with them to guide her. Lucky her. At least they had the previous experience to keep her from suffering as they had. Still, it did little to cool her temper, and even less to cool Otac’s, who had been seething at the thought of his sister in the line of fire. 

Her own temper had led her to spend more lights than she had initially planned, but there was little she could do now. 

She pocketed her phone, digging the tobacco tin from her backpack and opening it, pinching a little of the stuff and sprinkling it on the ground. The smell was processed, more chemical than she was used to, but she couldn’t help but think of… No. Focus. 

“Earth Mother,” she scattered a bit more of the herb across the snow, “I ask permission to move some of this snow to build a sacred fire. I offer this tobacco as a gift in return.”

She paused, waiting and listening. A few birds chirped, the wind rustled the leaves of the trees. Silence. Content with the response, she snapped the tin shut and pocketed it, using her boot to scrape most of the snow from her chosen spot with a boot, before building the base of her fire.

 _‘The Unknown Caller wanted nothing to do with the Voices. That’s why they were working against the Hun-- Hunt-The-Strong. And all along they were being controlled by Dance-For-Us, and now him... ‘_ she shuddered at the thought, crumpling a piece of the newspaper and lighting the end of it, carefully guiding it into the middle of her structure, before lighting another, _‘Will… Will that be me? Fighting so hard not to be Chosen, not to host, only to be used behind my back? To be turned into some kind of cruel puppet?’_

She watched as the fire consumed the first piece of paper, then the second, before finally catching the twigs. She put her frustration to work in snapping more kindling to add, until she had a small fire going. The heat reflected off her face, not enough to warm her completely, but just enough to be felt. This wasn’t for physical warmth, anyways.

 _“It’s symbolic of… that… symbol of light,”_ she could almost see her grandmother in her wheelchair, looking down at her tiny fire with a sense of pride, scarred hands resting on the blanket in her lap, _“When a spirit is broken, it dims, the light dims… The sacred fire it… it brings that passion back, that love for life and what life stands for. It’s so important to lay down the burdens from the year and move forward from the solstice. Forgive yourself, tu’us. You’re carrying too much.”_

It had been so easy to be angry. Since her mother had disappeared, it had been easy to deem the rest of the world as her enemy and withdraw into herself, using that rage to fuel her. Rage against authority, rage against her peers, rage against a cruel, uncaring world that had taken and taken from her, rage against people who took her in and said they cared for her, but gave her up as soon as she proved troublesome. It had taken her so much time and energy to swallow that pain and that anger, to leave herself exhausted and empty and ready to try again. It was hard to care, harder still to actually try to let others in. Hurt feelings and misunderstandings didn’t matter as much when you had shut everyone out. Among friends, however…

_“This year’s anger, this year’s frustrations, this year’s disappointments… Everything you griped and complained about: Leave it in the fire. Light the darkness, see the sun rise and gift us a new day. Let it cleanse you.”_

She had never done one of these on her own before and hadn’t even seen one since she was ten, but… she needed it. Just these past two months alone had been enough to goad her back toward her old ways. Her hand shook as she undid the braided coil of sweetgrass, crouching on the edge of the fire to light the end of it. She watched it catch, smoke coiled off it like a snake and slithering up into the sky.

“Creator,” her voice was hoarse when she spoke, standing and guiding the smoking braid over her head and chest, then her arms and legs, “Cleanse me of negativity and fill me with love.”

She set the sweetgrass aside, inhaling the scent as she withdrew the tin, fishing out another pinch of tobacco. 

“This is five years’ worth of forgiveness,” she declared as she tossed it onto the fire, retrieving another and tossing it in as well, “For everyone I’ve hurt. For all the harm I’ve done to myself and others. For…” she choked up, body going stiff at the thought, “For.. giving up on my mom. For thinking she abandoned me…” Her voice trailed off, hand shaking as she upended the rest of the tin into the fire.

The smell made her nose itch, and the smoke made her eyes burn, but she stood, staring down into the flame, letting the smoke irritate her eyes, mouth a thin line. The silence stifled her, pressing down on her chest. A droplet of saltwater hit the snow.

“Way ha he yoh,” she was a bit tone-deaf but… vague memories of the melody came to her, “Way ha he, Way ha he yoh…” She tapped her leg to the beat, a simple 1-2-3-4, like a heartbeat, to keep her in time, “Wey ha he yah, Wey ha he yah haiya--”

Her voice broke as she let the tears fall, the first body-shaking sob ripping any semblance of words from her. Broken hums took their place, faltering but determined to fill the quiet with anything but the sounds of her crying. She snuffled, trying keep the snot from dripping down her nose in vain, but five years of keeping her emotions bottled up meant that once she’d shaken and popped the cork there was no putting it back in. 

Someone had once told her that crying was cathartic, that it was meant to help you feel better about whatever it was you were going through. Fliss had thought it was a lie, just something said to make people feel better about such an ugly and uncomfortable display. 

It made sense now as she sat there for a while, crying like a child, watching the fire slowly die down. She did feel as if a weight had been lifted from her, even as she sucked in shuddering breaths and rubbed her red, puffy eyes. 

**MANY WILL NOT ADMIT THIS…** Thee-I-Dare had told her once, **BUT TO HEAL IS TO JUDGE WHO DESERVES YOUR SWEAT, YOUR BLOOD, SACRED TIME ITSELF, AND WHO DOES NOT.**

As many problems as she had with the Voices, they _were_ ancient. They’d seen far more than she had, it made sense that they would have some wisdom to share. There had been some time since they’d spoken, plenty of time to chew on the advice and consider it. The person who deserved it the most was herself, cheesy as that sounded. She’d blamed herself for so much over the years without even realizing it. 

Finally letting it go was everything she should have been able to set down at the healing circle, but she’d been so focused on others that she hadn’t even thought about it. She kicked some snow onto the last embers, exhaling slowly and dropping the still smoldering sweet grass braid onto the remains of the fire. She sniffed, using the sleeves of her coat to wipe her face, before glancing up at the sky. It was daylight, but…

“I don’t know if you’re watching, Thee-I-Dare, but I put in a good word for you with TMC. If you want to make a difference… maybe you should forgive yourself for some of your past actions, too,” she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose, and smiled, “It’s a lot lighter without them.”


	6. Flashback 4- Worried Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fliss relives a happy memory of the ‘before’ times, a soft scene with her grandfather. However, even the happiest of memories can sometimes leave you singing the blues...

“You know, your mother never liked coming out here with me.”

It was a perfect day for fishing, some time in late June or early July. Her grandfather was in his waders, tying his lines and checking his nymphs, while she sat on the shore, twirling the net in her hands. Her own waders were too big for her, bunching up around her shoulders and under her armpits, but they expected that she’d grow into them soon enough. The sun was only beginning to rise over the horizon, bathing them in a low, brassy light. On the truck’s old radio, an old man picking a guitar warbled about his troubles, some old song only her grandfather remembered, the only music that he played when he was out in the woods.

She could remember it clearly because she had just turned nine maybe a week before. It was back in happier times, the _before_ times: _before_ she got sick, _before_ she was taken away, _before_ her grandparents died, _before_ her mother disappeared, _before before before_. 

“Why not?” she paused in her twirling, gaze lifting to watch him as he tested the line, really four different types of line tied together, until he was content. His fingers moved like creatures of their own, experienced and clever, leaving her almost as confused as what he said. Hunting and fishing with her grandfather was one of her favorite things to do: being outside in the fresh air, spending time with him, listening to him talk about his own childhood, living out in the woods with his father.

“It just never sat right with her,” he didn’t look at her as he took a few cautious steps deeper into the water, up to his knees, until he found a spot he liked, “She said the quiet bothers her. It used to be like pulling teeth to get her out of the truck, and when I could get her out she’d scare the fish,” a few experimental casts, just as casual as he could be, “So I stopped bringing her.”

Fliss knew her mother well enough to know that she hated silence. She filled any space she was in with music or words or the sounds of whatever she was doing. It was the reason she had left Indian Brook, looking to move somewhere more exciting. She, on the other hand, slipped through the space unseen and unheard, hiding behind the sights and sounds of everything else. 

“I’m glad we can do this together,” her attention snapped back to her grandfather, who scanned the water with a practiced eye, “I know you’ll be safe no matter what, that you’ll know how to provide for yourself.”

Maybe it was because she was young, but he’d never really discussed his reasoning behind taking her along. She always figured it was an excuse to get her out of the house, where she was likely to get underfoot of someone, or just to spend time with his grandchild the same way his father and grandfather had spent time with him. She couldn’t imagine a time when she’d be forced to live on hunting and fishing alone, but it was touching to know how much he cared.

“Thanks, Niskamij,” her lower lip wobbled, but she managed to keep her emotions mostly to herself; crying, even happy tears, would scare the fish. They settled into a comfortable kind of silence, just the sounds of birds chirping and the water flowing through the creek as he cast his line, keeping it in the fast-moving riffle of the creek. Even when it began to drift, all it took was a simple flick of his wrist to get it back where he wanted it. Fliss wandered along the edge of the water, picking flowers and looking for blackberries, net still in hand for when her grandfather called for her.

Every once in a while, he’d wave her over, reeling in a twitching line, and she’d run to scoop up a trout in the net. Her grandfather would look over the fish, as if estimating its size and age and how much meat it would give, before one hand wrapped around its slippery body and the other slipped the hook from its lip. From there, the fish either went into a bucket they had brought, or was set free back into the water. They had a solid catch for a single day’s work, her grandfather’s nymphs doing their work without fail, which meant there was time for her to try. He waved her into the water, leaving the net behind as she carefully slid down the bank and into the creek. 

“Let me show you, you just…. Here,” he stood behind her, his weathered hands guiding hers along the fishing pole, tugging and adjusting the line, “Now flick your wrist… Just like that, atta girl.”

Her motions weren’t as smooth, but that just came with practice and experience. He let go, standing back and letting her take control. She tugged and adjusted the line, trying to replicate what she had seen, but it seemed like the fish weren’t hungry anymore and had switched their appetites to mischief. Something caught and tugged, making her beam with pride as she reeled it in, but that smile turned to a scowl as their net scooped up a particularly large leaf. The other attempts brought back even less, just empty hooks.

“Maybe I used up all the luck,” her grandfather patted her shoulders as they sat off the side of the bank, chewing on sandwiches in brown paper bags and some of the berries she’d managed to find, “We’ll try again after lunch, how’s that?” 

She nodded, feeling better about the failure with every bite. Maybe she’d just been hungry, that was why she hadn’t been casting right. She’d tugged off her waders, setting them aside in favor of letting her bare feet soak in the water. It was cool, especially shielded by the trees from the Summer sun’s heat, and sometimes small fish would come up to nibble on her toes until she wiggled them, sending the tiny flashes of silver all over. A few moments later, they’d come creeping back and the whole process would repeat itself.

She could remember tasting the sweetness of the berries on her tongue, a little tart if they weren’t quite ripe yet. They were small, the wild berries that didn’t grow nearly as big as the ones in the supermarket they sometimes stopped in as they drove back to Maine, but the flavor was still there. She tossed one in the air, catching it in her mouth and quickly looking to see if her grandfather had seen. 

His eyes were elsewhere, fixed on something in the distance. She turned, craning her neck to try and see what he was looking at. Something shifted in the trees, but she couldn’t quite place it, something big and brown and slowly weaving through the trees. She moved to stand, but a hand caught her knee, stopping her. Her grandfather shushed her, pointing at the thing and she watched in surprise as a bull elk and his cow walked into their clearing. 

She had seen pictures of elk before, but never had she seen one up close. It was huge, all corded muscle and thick brown fur, almost as big as a moose, though… not quite. She stared with wide eyes as they padded up to the water, sniffing the air for predators but finding only her and her grandfather. She froze and they eyed one another for what felt like eons.

And then the cow dropped her head and took a long drink, before stepping over the muddy bank and into the water. The spell broken, the bull followed after her, passing within feet of Fliss as he also waded into the water. There was a kind of heat that radiated off his huge body as he moved, something she couldn’t quite describe, almost like the life inside him was reaching out for her. She longed to touch it.

Her grandfather forgotten, she slipped out of his grasp and into the water, taking long, careful steps to avoid the worst of the rocks. The cow had already reached the other bank but the bull paused, head turning to look at her. Her breath caught in her throat, but she took one more step, reaching out her hand, fingers mere inches from his hide when

he threw back his head

and  
A-a-a-a-a-a-a-eeeeeeeeeeeeee-oh.

It started as a low, throaty sound, something she might have imagined an animal of this size to make, but that suddenly shifted into a shrill whistle that sent a shiver up her spine, one vertebrae at a time. This close, the sound actually vibrated through her, leaving her buzzing and full of static. She withdrew her hand, pressing it to her chest.

Wrong. This was wrong. There were no elk in Nova Scotia, the only ones she had ever seen were on TV, like the documentary she had been watching the night before. When this had actually happened, it had been a small herd of antlerless deer and they hadn’t been in rut. Fliss shook her head, stumbling backwards in her haste to try and get away from the animal as it bugled once more, a giant reflection of the statue that graced Lower East Hoadley, that piercing high-pitched cry making her blood run cold.

Turning to run, she heard the whistle turn into the twang of a giant cord. Her grandfather was gone, replaced by a glowing orange shape, the woods morphing into an unholy amalgamation of twisting green wood bent to resemble trees. Her brow furrowed, mouth opening to scream her anger as she stepped forward, facing down the open maw of the Shape. Her foot caught a moss-covered rock, shifting her balance and she tripped

and

fell

into 

the small creek that bisected Redacre’s woods. The moon shone through the trees, illuminating her just enough to see that she was sitting in the water now, hands and bottom smarting with the pain of landing on the uneven rocks dotting its surface. She winced as she forced herself up, wobbling slightly with the effort. 

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, looking down at her mud-covered, soggy sweats, shivering as the January air chilled her wet skin and hair. Goddamn blackouts… She’d never had anything like this happen to her before coming to this place. Even now, in the middle of the woods, she could faintly feel the vibrations of the Song floating up through the earth and into her feet. Stupid SPEAK-PRAY-LOVE. Stupid Maze. Stupid Instrument. Stupid Daimons.

“I hate this!” She shouted at the treetops, as if some eye made of stars could see her and feel her fury, “Just let me have a good dream every once in a while without ruining it, thanks!”

She rubbed her arms defensively, trying to warm herself before her shivering got too bad. What she needed now was a hot shower and change of clothes, which meant heading back to the house. Luckily she wouldn’t need to explain, Todd and Brenda were definitely still out patrolling and if she so much as mentioned a blackout or sleepwalking, they laughed it off and shooed her away.

She lifted her eyes, finding the constellations that could lead her back, and began the long trudge. Her bare feet made no sound as she walked across the forest floor, woods teeming with life that would let her pass without incident. It was amazing that she still remembered all this, after five years of being without… 

What had he said?

_“I know you’ll be safe no matter what, that you’ll know how to provide for yourself.”_

Niskamij knew what he was doing for her. She wasn’t sure how, but he _knew._ She’d have to find a way to thank him, to tell his spirit how much use she had for it. For now, though, she tried to remember the words to the song that had been playing all those years ago, singing and humming softly as she walked,

“You made me weep

An you made me moan

When you caused me to leave my

My happy home

But someday

Ya ain't gonna worry my mind any mo'...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have never heard a bull elk bugle before, please listen so you can understand how spooky it is:  
> https://youtu.be/j1W0GAaRe2w
> 
> The song is ‘Worried Mind’ by Mississippi Fred McDowell. You can listen here: https://youtu.be/mlHD-_6FoEk
> 
> Thanks to those of you who read! Please feel free to leave feedback, I’m also taking suggestions and requests!


	7. Smiling in the Name of...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubled by the news that No More Shadows is a ‘ticking time bomb’ and an ‘infection spread to the minds’ of those who received the texts from the Unknown Caller, Fliss is in need of a distraction. Luckily for her, ‘shitty friendship’ is here to save the day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in collaboration with Ryder’s creator, with their permission. I figured you have six chapters of bad stuff, here’s just good things. This goes out to you, my three fans!

**Ryder:**

_ ‘dude you see what that krystal said in the group chat about being “infected” by those texts??  _

_ you got them too, right?’ _

**Me:**

_ ‘Twice. _

_ What do you mean ‘infected’?’ _

**Ryder:**

_ ‘no fucking clue _

_ has to do with old tongue and something about the subconscious _

_ if you wanna come over, my windows always open and we got leftovers’ _

**Me:**

_ ‘Yeah, I think _

_ That might be a good idea.’ _

That text had shaken her, far more than she let on; in her head,  _ she was nine again, head pounding, forehead hot, neck so stiff she could barely turn her head. Her mom had let her stay home, laying cool rags on her forehead, but it hadn’t gotten better. She shuttered her windows because the light hurt her eyes, getting up only to shuffle to the bathroom and heave her guts into the toilet bowl.  _

_ That was where she was when the seizure happened. One moment she was rinsing her mouth out, doing her best to rid herself of the acrid taste, the next her entire body had seized up, the floor had fallen out from under her and she was falling, falling… Her head cracked against the tile, bright flashing lights masking her vision as she convulsed on the floor, and then she passed out.  _

_ She didn’t remember the ride to the hospital, just vague, blurry images, stumbling into the car, and then waking up in a sterile, white hospital room. She turned her head to see the IV and the heart monitor, watching the line pulse with each heartbeat. In movies, this would be the part where she’d look over to see her mom sleeping in a chair next to her bed, but there was no one. She shifted slightly, blinking the sleep from her eyes and watching the heart monitor a while longer.  _

_ She hated this place. It smelled of bleach and everything was too washed out and pale. Maybe someone would come and check on her soon enough, but she hadn’t heard anyone enter. In fact, she hadn’t heard anything since waking up, and while she didn’t mind the quiet, this kind of silence was deafening. Even the heart monitor, something she was sure was supposed to beep, was silent. She groaned, head lolling over to check the door, and she was surprised to see a nurse already there, some young guy with short brown hair and green scrubs. He was reading a clipboard, looking between it and her, but wasn’t speaking. At least, his mouth was moving, but no sound came out.  _

_ “What?” he paused, jolting as if a bit startled. She hadn’t spoken that loud, had she? He’d been looking at her, so why would he be so surprised? _

_ “What are you saying?” _

_ His mouth moved again, but she shook her head, “I still can’t hear you.” _

_ He stepped up to her bedside with a concerned frown, setting his clipboard by her feet and lifting his hand, mere inches from the side of her head, and snapped his fingers. Once, twice, three times in quick succession. Fliss watched him do it, knowing what it should have sounded like, and yet… _

_ Nothing. _

Ryder answered the door with a forced smile as he ushered her inside. His parents smiled at her when they saw her and asked what they were up to, that she was welcome to stay for dinner. She glanced at him and they said something vague about homework as they climbed the stairs. Ryder’s parents were genuinely nice people, something she felt was a rarity in her life. It was horrible to think about them walking the maze in their pajamas, or in latex, working night in and night out on a project they’d never see or understand for an entity that didn’t care about them. How he felt about it, she didn’t know, but she didn’t intend to ask. For now, she had other things to worry about, a so-called ‘ticking time bomb’ in her head and something waiting in the dark to catch Redacre in its teeth...

...

“Fuckin’ figures you never heard of KMFDM.”

All pretense of doing homework had been forgotten as they leafed through Ryder’s CD collection. Most were burned, with album names written in sharpie in unfamiliar handwriting. Some of them had no names at all. 

Fliss shrugged, eyes scanning the cover, before turning it over to read the back. The low lights didn’t help- just a string of fairy lights over the wall of band posters. The window might have helped, if it was still daylight. It looked like a mixed CD he’d made himself, the art all harsh black lines with pops of color printed from a computer, with that same handwriting in black sharpie, listing the songs and artists. Probably not what she’d choose for herself, but he was showing her a piece of himself and she… well, she didn’t want to squander that.

“I mean, what is this? German? So like, German punk heavy metal stuff? How many people  _ have  _ heard of them?”

She held it back out to him and he huffed, taking it and popping the case open.

“German Industrial anti-estab-- Fuck, whatever, I’m just saying it’s great and I think you’d like it, cause you’d  _ get _ it.”

Into the player it went. 

He pinched his mouth shut, adjusting to the right song. But it didn’t stay shut for long. Apparently he hadn’t actually said enough yet, “It’s anti… anti- _ bullshit _ , anti-war, anti-police states and colonization and all the bad shit…” 

The corner of her mouth ticced up as she let her body droop, curling up on her side on the floor. She adjusted her head to ensure her left ear was facing the speaker on the CD player. The first few notes of the guitar made her scoot back an inch, loud even by her standards, but she let herself relax, close her eyes, and just… listen. 

A deep, dark sound slithered from the CD player. It was slower than she expected, but the feelings it emanated were easy to pick out. She risked glancing at him from the corner of her eye, remembering how it felt when the loneliness threatened to empty her out, anger was there to keep her full, heating her from the inside to keep the chill away. She had been so close to burning up… He seemed to be one good spark from catching.

The first few growls barely registered as words, making her brow furrow in concentration. 

“What is he saying?”

Ryder perked up, eyes wide, as he patted down his pants pockets, cursing under his breath, “Wait- shit, here- I wrote it all out-  _ all _ of the cd. For you,” he explained, jumping up to his desk a moment. He returned with a worn ringed notebook, open to a page with handwritten lyrics numbered by track. There were a few doodles at the top of the page that matched the art on the cd itself. 

Fliss reluctantly sat up, taking the notebook gently, eyes sliding over the words and fingers testing the edges to see how many pages he’d written on. _ For her?  _ It had been such a long time since she’d had someone who thought about her… and scanning the CD’s case from where it sat atop the player, this couldn’t have been especially easy. There wasn’t any internet, and even if he knew the lyrics by heart, this was a lot to do. Her chest tightened for a moment, but she didn’t let it show, instead patting the spot beside her for him to sit.   
  
With a nervous chew at his lip, Ryder debating starting the song over. That would have been a little much. He leaned in to see where the singer was, and then pointed to the notebook, tapping where they were. He seemed to pause for the briefest of moments, taking in her gesture, before lowering himself to sit beside her. She pressed against his side, laying the book on the point where their thighs pressed together, keeping the music on her left side.

Her eyes followed his finger in time to the music:

_ This is the dignity that you felt. _

_ This is the gutter where you have knelt. _

_ Oh my darling - It's a war with no winners! _

_ Give me reason - When violence hits home! _

_ Give me something - Ignorance is your religion! _

_ To believe in - Take this spear and heal thyself! _

He certainly wasn’t wrong about _ getting _ it. Something inside her lifted its head at the sound, sniffing as if the meaning were a scent it hadn’t encountered in some time. It wasn’t a sound she was used to, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was an artistry in the way this kind of anger was wielded. Her eyes lifted from the page to Ryder’s face, to see if his expression had changed, but he seemed as guarded as she was, gauging her reactions in case she wasn’t enjoying herself.

“MMmmmaybe you were right,” she waited until the guitars began to fade to speak, bumping his shoulder with her own, “I’ve never really listened to anything like this, but… I like it.”

She smiled again and he returned the gesture, relief flitting across his features, “Really? I mean-- Good, yeah, I  _ knew _ you would. Okay, next song is still KMFDM, but a remix they did,” he turned the page as the song began, soft at first, mostly buzzes and taps to her, before the woman’s voice slipped in,

‘ _ All is quiet _

_ Nothing left to hate _

_ No signs of life to practice what you preach _

_ Sorry comes too late’ _

The first thudding beats vibrated through her, progressively stronger as it played. Without her permission, her mind forced her back into the maze, the Song moving through her body in waves, her mind drifting away from her body. Ryder must have found that sensation soothing, he was subtle but since LAUGH-LAST had outed him to her, he’d been more bold in his nudges toward accepting his god; she, on the other hand, found that not having control didn’t sit right with her. Before she even realized, the thudding stopped and the song was fading.

Ryder had picked up on her distraction. He was looking at her, lips pursed in thought, hand wavering over the notebook. The track changed, an electric guitar strumming, and he grinned with new purpose, turning the page. He leaned forward, hitting the pause button.

“Okay, this one… Figure you ain’t heard of Rage Against the Machine, either?” she shook her head, “What _ do _ you listen to?”

Her mom had loved music. When they were home, her mom had the radio on whatever stations were the least staticy and had the least commercial breaks. She listened to all sorts of stuff, classic rock and hip hop and pop and sometimes church hymns, she didn’t care as long as it filled the silence. If the radio wasn’t working well that day, she had cassettes and CDs, some like Ryder’s homemade collection and some she picked up from the bargain bin or the thrift store. If she didn’t have that, she hummed or sang whatever came into her head. It was hard to try and pin what she liked the most, and left Fliss with little to no knowledge of band or song names or genres. 

Her grandmother only listened to recordings of church hymns or Mi’kmaq songs, or sang them herself. Her grandfather was happy to listen to them at home, but in his truck he only ever listened to the blues, a lineup of men with guitars and miserable lives like Robert Johnson, Mississippi Fred McDowell, Blind Lemon Jefferson, and Charley Patton. 

“I don’t really listen to music…” he reacted as if she’d spouted heresy, “I mean, I don’t have any favorites and it hasn’t really been easy since… You know…” 

She gestured vaguely to her hearing aids, drawing a sheepish look from him. He mumbled something that she missed, then a soft _ ‘fuck’, _ before adding, “You can hear this alright though, right?”

She nodded.

“Okay, good. Then… We’re singing along to this one.”

That pulled a face from her, “Um, no. I’m not a singer and I don’t know the words.”

"Nah nah, the lyrics for this one are easy, it just repeats,” he hit the play button, the guitar returning, “I’ll help you out, but it’s super easy,” a bassline took over as she gave him a skeptical look, “You have to, okay?”

She glanced down at the lyrics he’d written for her and he was right - it really was the same four or five phrases repeated again and again - before looking back up at him and sighing. A cowbell joined into the background.

“Okay. But don’t blame me when I mess it up.”

‘ _ Killing in the name of!’ _

The music shifted, but his smirk stayed as he bobbed his head in time to it. This was one he was obviously familiar with. 

_ “Some of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses, _

_ Some of those that work forces are the same that burn crosses,” _

He was right, it wasn’t really singing, so she couldn’t mess it up, but she didn’t lift her voice above a mumble. His brows lifted and he nudged her in the side with her elbow, making her squirm. She shoved at him, but he kept prodding her, looking irritatingly amused by it. She lifted her voice now, matching his volume as he guided her down the lyric sheet. 

“Ugh!”

She jumped slightly as he grunted right in her ear at the same time as the singer and she shoved him again, his chuckle fading into the music as she couldn’t help but smile back. 

He left her alone for the more difficult parts, but by now she found herself bobbing her head in time with him, the tempo of the song almost mesmerizing. This was her favorite so far, the simplest but with the same amount of meaning in each syllable. Ryder tapped his leg in time to the song, three beats in quick succession,

_ “And now you do what they told ya, _

_ And now you do what they told ya, _

_ And now you do what they told ya,” _

She started quietly again, but he didn’t have to nudge her again. This time, her voice raised in time with his, until they were nearly shouting. She couldn’t help but be into it now, barely glancing down at the sheet. She started to repeat the line an extra time after the song moved on and had to shush Ryder as he laughed at her, but she couldn’t help but feel… She didn’t know, good? For such an angry song, this was actually pretty fun.

She left the more complex parts again to Ryder, but mouthed along the best she could, waiting for the parts she knew best. When they came along, the two practically shouted, turning the song up until they could barely hear themselves, uncaring of the knocks on the door, a voice asking them to tone it down. 

“Okay,” his voice was muffled by the guitar screeching through a solo, grin wide as he glanced at door, “This is the best part, just repeat ‘FUCK YOU I WON’T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME!’” 

She laughed as Ryder lowered his voice to match the song, missing the first one entirely, surprisingly soft, but she caught on to the second, and soon enough they were shouting again. Someone knocked on the door again but they drowned it out, too absorbed in their fun. His folks were well acquainted to loud music muffled from his room; better not to stop him. The song would play itself out soon enough.    


Ryder turned it down reluctantly for the ending riffs, pulling himself to his feet and navigating the path through his mess to the door. It cracked before he got to it, and he pulled it fully open. It was his father, looking tired, but not angry. Ryder’s back was to her, so their voices were muffled.    
  
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I know. I know… Okay but can you  _ really  _ tell me to keep it down when I’m- yeah-  _ okay, dad _ …” He ended a little low, and the way his face looked as he turned back to her and shut the door suggested  _ maybe _ he would actually listen and keep it down. 

“Y’did great!” he shouted, arms high and triumphant. “Shy, sure, but… Great.” 

“I’ve never heard that song before,” she countered defensively, as he sat back down beside her, “Am I supposed to belt it out like a rock star on my first try?”

Ryder snorted, rolling his eyes and pressing play again, the music notably quieter, “You really  _ don’t _ know anything about music? Shame, but man, that’s one thing I  _ can _ fix.” 

She shrugged and rested her head against his shoulder, still riding the high of the last song. He was fidgeting, holding back from bobbing to this next song on her behalf. It was nice to just be a kid for a change, listening to music with her friend, getting yelled at for being too loud. What would life be like if she could be like this all the time? The next song was playing, her eyes following Ryder’s finger as he helped her track the lyrics, but it was hard to focus on the injustice or anger while she was so happy.

“So you, uh,” Ryder stopped to clear his throat, voice a little strained, “Dad asked if you were staying for dinner, so… You wanna?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, shifting so she could look up at his face, “I, uh, thanks, by the way. I didn’t say that before but… I’m glad you texted me.”   
  
There was a tiny shock of ice in his chest, that reminder as to why he’d wanted her to come over- but he just offered a smirk as he tilted his head back against the wall, tapping his foot along.   
  
“Glad you came. It’s nicer when I don’t have to chase someone through the woods to get a good meal in them.” he snorted, “Nisha- I mean Nisha.” 

“She seems the type,” she snorted, “How successful are you, usually?”

“I usually trick her into stealing from my plate, at least. Don’t you pull that on me though, you’re supposed to have some sense in that head,” he smiled, raising a curled hand to rap on his forehead.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t waste food. Ever. Maybe I can sneak her some stuff… Or teach her to set snares. They’re pretty easy.”

“Teach  _ me  _ so I can snare her? It’s a better plan.” he joked, then shook his head, to dispel the thought, “We got like, five minutes. One last song? Then dinner.  _ Real food _ . Not like Blanda and Clod make, I bet.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder to smile, another genuine smile that made her eyes crinkle and her cheeks begin to ache after going so long without the movement.

“Deal.”


	8. The Story of Rabbit and the Wolverine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fliss tells a story of her own design, which she sends to HUNT-THE-STRONG following her most recent conversation with THEE-I-DARE. In it is an invitation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The TID interaction can be found here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Oww_GVfzs1R_pPG4R2C8GfT3y7b8TUZ_nPe3AGY9WoU/edit
> 
> The story she told TID was called 'The Girl Jenu', from Charles Leland's 1884 collection 'The Algonquian Legends of New England' and can be found here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/15CclGYKfAtKPFjvQgdrqZCAfMOpG8GtOmiH0OgwN75U/edit
> 
> While this story does borrow tone, characters, and elements from real Mi'kmaq storytelling, the plot itself is my own creation. Palisa’ti (Plis for short) is the Lnui’simk equivalent of ‘Felicity’, Fliss’ full first name. Thank you again to Lydia for helping me with her knowledge, patience, and kindness, she makes learning and writing about Mi’kmaq traditions and modern culture so enjoyable!
> 
> Hopefully you all enjoy!

For once, this is not a story my grandmother told me. This is a story that I had to learn for myself in the hardest way imaginable:

Not so long ago, Palisa’ti, a descendent of the rabbit Ableegumooch and known as Plis to her friends, lived with her family in a small warren, deep in the woods and away from many other creatures. They didn’t have much choice in where they lived, but they were happy anyways. Plis was young and small, but also fast and strong. She enjoyed running and playing with the other animals, always careful of predators. Her mother let her do this but warned her to hide whenever she heard or smelled the fox or weasel. One day, Plis fell sick. She ran a fever and had horrible headaches and sweats and could not keep her meals down in her stomach. Her family tended to her, but still had to go back out into the forest to find food and to protect their family.

Plis did not want to be a burden, laying in their burrow while sick, and went out into the forest to help. While she was there, she took a wrong turn, ending up in front of the den of a large predator. She could smell death in the air and heard a low growl, which sent her running back to her burrow at top speed. When she arrived, she collapsed in exhaustion and slept for days.

When she woke up, there was only stillness and silence, something very different than her usual bustling home. She called for her grandparents and her mother, but heard nothing, not even her own voice. Scared, she scratched at her ears and ran to the other animals. It took many tries to understand what they were saying to her, but soon enough they were speaking loudly and clearly enough for her to hear.

“Your grandparents,” said Miko the squirrel, who had always been a close friend of the family, “I am sorry to say, they were old and feeble. We buried them with burning sweetgrass and helped their spirits on their journey.”

“Do not cry,” added Keeonik the otter, “Crying will only upset their spirits. You are too young to help them, so we will help guide them.”

“And my mother?” Plis asked, swallowing any tears and forcing her sadness deep inside her, “Where is she?”

The animals looked at each other, but none would speak. Finally, the old porcupine stepped forward, “We found tufts of her fur and bits of her blood, but your mother has otherwise disappeared entirely. We do not know if she was eaten or if she escaped, but we cannot find her.”

Plis was not allowed to stay alone in her warren, for she was too young, so she was sent to live with another family. The animals who were in charge of the forest were all predators, the same foxes and wolves and martens who her mother warned her of, those who would eat her if they had the chance.

Apistanewj, the marten, was given charge of her. He was an honorable creature, but he and his family were martens – and while they tried to make her feel at home, she was always reminded that they ate her kind. She was reminded of this in their words and their actions, and sometimes she even saw Apistanewj’s children looking at her as if they would strike at any time. She avoided her family and rarely spoke to them, hoping that they would leave her be.

Eventually, the marten family returned to the council of the forest, “She does not want to be a part of our family. We have welcomed her to our home, given her love and treated her as our own, but she does not join us for meals or speak with us, and looks at us with distrust. Please find a new family to keep her until she is of age.”

The animals gave her to the fox family. They took her in but were not as kind as the marten family. They constantly reminded her of their love of rabbit meat, intimidating her and cornering her sometimes in their den until she was shaking. She had lost her sense of fear since her illness and the evil cave, but she did not want to die, not to the likes of the fox family. She puffed herself up to appear bigger, and eventually used her claws to chase the imposing creatures away from her. They returned her with complaints of her bad attitude.

“And look at the scratches on our son’s face!” Mother Fox shouted, “She attacked him for no reason!”

And Plis was sent away again. And again. Each time she was given to a predator, wolf and owl and eagle, and each time she was forced to learn from her ‘family’ in ways to be tricky or hostile, as her hearing was still bad and her nose could no longer tell the difference between a friend and foe, for it was always filled with the stench of predators.

Eventually, the last family returned her to the council.

This time, she was sent to a new forest, one that was strange and ruled by another creature that she had never seen but had heard horrible stories of. The creature’s voices rang out among the trees, telling her that this time, she would be housed with other rabbits. Her heart swelled with hope, but she had been tricked before and kept herself closed off. When the new family came to take her, she was disappointed, but not surprised, to see something with sharp teeth dressed in the skins of rabbits, licking their chops and guiding her to their burrow.

They tried to ply Plis with smiles and gifts, but she could still tell that beneath their disguises that they were not like her. Their den was decorated with the fur and feathers of other animals that they had taken into their home, all small prey animals like her whose skins were now worn by the things ruling the forest. But now… She had all the tricks she had learned from her other families and was almost a predator herself. Whenever she saw things dressed in the skins of animals in this forest, she would growl and scratch and bite until they went away. Even then, her new ‘family’ kept her and refused to give her up. She turned her attentions to other young animals kept in this forest, just as trapped as she. She tried to teach them what she had learned, but the smell of predators still frightened them, so they ignored her.

From above, the Crow called down to her. She could see it now, tattered and missing most of his feathers. Plis had found many of his feathers around the forest, as had other young animals, but when she offered them to him, he refused. He would molt any day, he said, and a newer, finer set of feathers would grow in. For now, he stayed in the trees, hidden from the creatures who ruled the forest, who hated him and wanted to see him dead.

One day, a new animal entered the forest: Lox, the wolverine. This evil-minded creature had every vice and only one virtue: of all the beasts of the forest and Devils in Hell, he was the hardest hearted, toughest, and most unconquerable, being ever the first to fight and the last to give in, which even then he did not, never having done it and never intending to. In his first days since being spotted, he found the Nightingale and silenced her songs, grinning at the young animals with her blood on his mouth and her feathers in his teeth as he slunk into the darkest part of the woods.

“I HAVE TOLD OTHERS THIS … AND IT WINS ME NO FRIENDS, I FEAR,” said Crow, who still could not fly while his feathers grew back, “I SAY SURVIVE, BECAUSE SOME DO NOT.”

“I will still try, “she said, “I don’t want any of them to fall prey to him.”

“TRY TO SAVE THEM ALL IF YOU WISH,” the Crow sighed, “BUT BE WILLING TO OUTLIVE THEM.”

Plis had always been intent on surviving. She had survived living with martens and weasels and wolves and foxes and all the thousand enemies of rabbits, one sole wolverine was not enough to scare her into hiding. She ran through the forest, shouting about Lox, warning creatures of his dangers, trying to convince the other young animals not to fall for his, or any other predators’, tricks. Crow watched from above but until he could fly, he could do nothing. He and his allies were regrouping against the threat, but even they had their limits.

One day, Plis was with her friends and finally found Lox, who cornered them. He was tired of hiding in the shadows, he said, and had decided to come out to play. He bit them, but did not kill them, leaving them with a deep mark that no amount of healing or salve could cure. This mark, Crow told them, had an infection in it, something that could spread to all the other animals in the forest. When he was not spreading it himself, he had a helper, also wearing the skin of another creature, who would bite for him.

For the first time in a long time, Plis was afraid. Even now, the thought of her illness made her feel weak and her hearing loss still left her vulnerable at times. She pushed, trying to force the sickness out of her body, but it would not go. Finally, Plis knew that there was only one creature who knew what was happening.

She approached Lox’s den with an offering of sweetgrass and tobacco, still willing to be civil. It was a cave, far from the rest of the forest, a place that reeked of darkness and filled the air around her with a low, ominous growl. Reminded of the cave back in her forest, she froze, but this time she did not shiver. She puffed herself up, baring her teeth and her claws, and growled in response.

“Lox! I want to speak with you!” she set the offerings before her, “You have frightened the animals of the forest, marked us, infected us, and killed one of those who brought joy to many, but I bring you a gift and ask for a conversation!”

There was a deep chuckle somewhere in the darkest bowels of the cave…

And I suppose, HUNT-THE- STRONG, this is where you finish the story. Come find me and we'll talk.


	9. A Soft Spot for Lost Causes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following their latest talk, Fliss considers her relationships, mainly with THEE-I-DARE and Ryder. Any attempts to be a normal teenager are dashed by the impending doom of Redacre and shadowy plots of incorporeal Daimons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Messenger, Otackozoy, and Ryder are used with the permission of their creators. The interaction being referenced can be found here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xL1t-CphrngOunZZZ3IwFRiL5h0dEow0XAfA4ZYrWWQ/edit
> 
> The mixed CD that Fliss created for Ryder (from her grandfather's old cassettes) can be heard here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtPpb5-_gRKb9cM5GojCARBBHPhTB0mY4

**Ryder:**

‘i know a lot of crazy shits been happening

like the fuckin sadversary the other night?? ugh 

anyway, um

i got a game on friday and you can come

i mean if you want’

**Me:**

‘Like… Football?’

**Ryder:**

‘yeah

i mean

you dont have to’

**Me:**

‘You’re not getting off that easy. After how excited you were to make the team? I’m going.

Can I bring Otac? He’s never seen Football either.’

**Ryder:**

‘if he’s not stuck in detention till next year, go ahead’

**Me:**

‘Perfect, I’ll meet you at your house so we can walk together.’

“Oh god. Are… You’re really wearing  _ that _ shirt?”

He was trying to look skeptical, but Fliss could see the smile threatening to push through. It was one of the shirts the school sold as a fundraiser each year, some goofy design on the front and the name and number of the player you bought the shirt from on the back. She hadn’t told him that she’d bought it right after he’d announced making the team, but if he looked (which she caught him doing), he could see ‘Desantos’ across her shoulders above his number, ‘28’. It was far too big for her, the hem hanging down past her thighs, but it was comfortable and served its purpose. They’d catch up with Otac as they got closer to the school, but for now… For now it was just the two of them.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve never been to a football game before, and probably would never have gone to one if not for you,” she shrugged, “You’ll have to explain to me what happened afterwards though. I have  _ no  _ idea how that sport works.”

Ryder chuckled despite himself, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, “Well… Thank you. Yeah, I... I never got into sports either. Jackie was really the one with skill, but… I decided to try out anyway. Hard to believe I’m real fuckin’  _ good  _ at ‘em. Coach even said...”

Maybe he didn’t notice, but she could see the way his chest puffed, the way his brows bent slightly, the increase in his pace, the way his mouth tilted just so, the little quirks that told her how proud he was of his accomplishment. They’d been spending more and more time together, even with his new practice schedule for the Spring pre-season, and she found herself reading him more easily than ever. She could tell when he was angry (all the time) or happy or thinking about something, even when he was getting ready to go on a tangent-- 

**I HAVE A SOFT SPOT FOR LOST CAUSES**

Her grin fell slightly, shaking her head as if that could push the memories out. It wasn’t that THEE-I-DARE’s comments weren’t welcome, but she couldn’t allow herself to believe that the ‘baby lucid’ was unsaveable. Even now, looking at him as he told her about his most recent practices leading to tonight’s game, there was so much worth saving, she couldn’t allow herself to believe that one day it would just be  _ gone,  _ lost in a sea of voices and minds and bodies--

“Hey, space cadet, you okay?” 

He must have noticed her expression change, or maybe she’d started walking slower, lost in thought…

“Yeah,” he didn’t look convinced but couldn’t seem to place her mood shift, so she continued, “I’m just… I just remembered the other night…”

Ryder’s expression soured, lips pressed in a tight line, “Fuck  _ him _ , don’t worry about the  _ Sadversary _ ,” he didn’t bother trying to hide his disgust when it was just the two of them, “‘ _ I know you are afraid, son _ ’. Man, if I-- I should’ve said something like, ‘If you see fear reflected in my eyes, it's yours, not mine’-- FUCK! That’s  _ good.  _ Shit! Why can’t I think of stuff like that in the moment?” 

“ _ Stuff like what? _ ”

The voice came from what she had assumed to be empty space, now filled with her friend. Otac’s hands were in his pockets, casual as ever, evidently not phased by the scare he’d given the two of them; Ryder had even shrieked in surprise, clutching his chest, trying to steady his breathing.

“What the  _ fuck?  _ Why do you do that?” he shot the other boy, then Fliss, an accusing glare, “ _ Both of you _ . Don’t you ever, you know, say  _ hello _ or something? And  _ not _ sneak up on people?”

Fliss snorted, but she was gripping the strap of her pack with a clenched fist, “Not our fault you’re easily distracted.” 

Ryder rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath, but let the topic die right there, instead focusing on walking a little faster to escape his embarrassment. Otac had the advantage of height, allowing him long strides without even thinking about it. That left Fliss, the shortest of the three, to double-time to keep pace in between them. Her eyes caught her friend’s, silent questions she knew Ryder wouldn’t appreciate being answered floating beneath his gaze, but he seemed to let it drop. For now.

“So, football,” he ventured, “I don’t understand, it’s not a  _ ball _ exactly, and you don’t really kick it with your foot, so why call it that? It doesn’t make sense.  _ Handegg  _ would fit better.”

“ _ Handegg?” _ Ryder couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice, glancing around her at the other kid incredulously, “ _ Listen,  _ okay, I get that it’s not-- Okay, let’s start with the fact that there is kicking in football, but I..”

Fliss let the conversation fade into the background, walking silently between them as they discussed the merits of the word ‘football’ and whether or not Ryder actually understood where the name came from. The latest visit had been an unexpected surprise, another means of trying to calm her fears about the curses, but as per usual, the Daimon had been far too vague to actually assuage any of her concerns.

**FLISS, THE HUNGER IS NOT YOU.**

She knew that. She understood that. But it could make her do things, terrible, taboo things that would hurt others. What about that wasn’t concerning? Maybe he wanted to ‘free’ humans from his kind, but it certainly didn’t hurt to keep them dependent on him and the other Voices for answers they refused to give freely. Allies or not, he needed Hosts to survive, the same as the others, and that meant that she could never truly  _ trust  _ him to be forthright.  _ The inventor of the lie? Forthright and honest?  _ She was naïve for even considering it. 

“Fliss?” She’d been staring aimlessly up at the sky, but Ryder’s voice dragged her back down to Earth. Evidently, her silence had been noticeable, as both boys were looking at her.

“Huh? What?”

“I gotta get to the locker room to prep. Takes like fifteen minutes to take all my piercings out, which is annoying as fuck but— whatever,” his chest puffed again, eyes darting between her and Otac, “Go find some seats, okay? I’ll see you when we’re done!”

She waved him off as he jogged toward the locker rooms, vibrating with nervous energy and anticipation, leaving her and Otac to go find some place to sit. They settled on the second row of bleachers, not the best view of the entire game, but close enough that they could see Ryder specifically; they wouldn’t know enough about what was happening to care about how good their view was anyways.

It didn’t surprise her that Otackozoy would agree to come with her to an event they both knew nothing about, he was willing to do far crazier things at her behest… If Ryder was a lost cause for his devotion to SPEAK-AS-ONE, what would that make Otac, a devotee who took her one-time joke about being the new ‘Voice of reason’ and turned it into multiple ‘Chosen’ willing to follow her, in TID’s eyes? If he could turn all of the hours he’d accumulated in to anyone else, perhaps the Daimon would call him an absolute lunatic. For now though, he was of use, so nothing to criticize.

“Fifteen minutes? That is far too much metal for anyone to be carrying around,” her friend’s voice was… strangely thoughtful for such a casual statement and she realized that she’d gone silent once more, lost in her thoughts, and he was pulling her back to reality, “Especially in his face. Do you think he gets stopped often at airports?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought, shrugging one shoulder, “Probably. I imagine that takes more than that to get him through the line there.”

“Speaking of lines,” his gaze darted to the concession stand, then to the backpack he’d set beside him, “I brought snacks… I have basically a dragon’s hoard now, so if you want any… You are welcome to it.” 

Fliss murmured her thanks, eyes trailing across him, before slipping back down to the field. The cheerleaders and band were preparing, so close to the start of the game, but it wasn’t her concern. She was too busy thinking again, about what she’d been learning, about what the Voices thought of her and the other kids of the town, of each other. While TID was vague at best, he at least didn’t recruit child soldiers the way she heard SEED-THE-GRUDGE was. Her nose wrinkled at the thought:  _ generals.  _ It wasn’t as if they weren’t already fighting a kind of war, but there was something about the explicit language that made her stomach churn. Nisha had been recruited, and that had Ryder more on edge about the Voices than ever. 

And her. A bit.

**YOU MAY HAVE A POINT**

He’d said that to her when she asserted that all the Voices enslaved their hosts to a degree, probably the most straight-forward he’d be on a subject that affected him just as much as the others. She twirled a finger through her hair, twisting her braid back and forth as she considered just how bad it  _ really  _ must be. Entire loss of self? Of bodily autonomy? Loss of cognition? A walking puppet for some other force? Maybe not as insidious and imperfect as the Unknown Caller, but they seemed to suggest they could do it. Even the less extreme, just a force sitting in the back of your brain, subtly pushing you to do things for them until you forgot what you actually wanted and didn’t know if the decisions you made were yours or your Voice’s. 

She shuddered. If she ever had to host, had no choice, she’d force them to talk to her about everything. Make decisions together. Even if there wasn’t a way to do that just yet… She’d find it.

She realized her long pause before Otac could remind her, glancing uncomfortably between her and the field. Fliss flushed slightly in embarrassment, knowing he’d been waiting patiently for her to say something. When it didn’t come, he simply filled in the gap as the people around them cheered for the home team as they took the field. She didn’t see Ryder, another figure down there in uniform, with a helmet hiding his features, so she didn’t mind talking until she could spot number 28. 

“Sorry, it’s been a weird week,” she rolled her shoulders, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what he said to us,” she paused, “And I’m sorry that he showed after you turned in for the night. I don’t think he did it on purpose.”

He shrugged it off, “It happens. But Messenger told me a bit about what he had to say. What about you? How are  _ you _ feeling about it?”

_ Right.  _ He’d been so quiet, she’d nearly forgotten about him, but Messenger had borne witness to the entire exchange, making Ryder’s allegiances that he’d kept so close to his chest… Fairly public knowledge. If he chose to tell. He was excitable and... Well, kind of a mess, but he didn't seem to be the type to try and ruin other people's lives. 

“You know… The usual vague Voice….”

“Bullshit?”

She snorted suddenly, taken aback, but nodded, “Yeah. That.”

The sounds of the game below, of the crowd around them murmuring and chattering, the occasional clank of band instruments or squeaks of the cheerleaders filled their silence, but she knew he was expecting more from her. She ran her tongue over the back of her teeth, considering her options.

“Did Mess tell you  _ everything  _ he said? About the Hunter? And Ryder? And…?”

“The fact that Ryder needs a pacifier? Yes, he did tell me that,” looking over his face, he didn’t seem especially shocked or upset, “... What?”

“I’ve known a while,” she ventured, “And I haven’t really spread that information around, you know? Could you… Uh… Would you keep that a secret too?”

Now he looked surprised, “Of course. I mean, everyone can follow who they want. Why would I tell anyone?”

He wasn’t wrong, even her skepticism didn’t go as far as to try and force kids to stop following their Voices, but hearing someone else say it made her curious, “Because some of the other Club kids might… I’ve seen and heard about some nasty things done to SAO followers,” she paused again, “But… Ryder especially, he doesn’t want it to become common knowledge and frankly… I’m hoping one day…”

Something was announced and a bunch of the Redacre players returned to the bench, a fresh line taking their places. There on the end, number 28, a bit shorter than the others, but she could see the flash of white teeth beneath the helmet as she stood and clapped, cheering. 

“Desantos! 28! Go Ryder! Tackle someone!”

**THOSE WHO CAN’T BE SAVED…**

**BELIEVE AS WE DO. IN THEIR SECRET HEART**

**THOSE WHO HAVE DOUBTS**

**LIKE RYDER…**

**THERE IS HOPE. SATURATION LOSS.**

She sat back down, keeping an eye on the field but focusing again on Otac. His lips were tugged in a sardonic smile.

“I’m hoping one day I can convince him to listen to me and leave Them.”

“Heh, would you believe that I’m friends with another Speakeasy follower?” evidently her expression gave away her answer, “You didn’t know? We discuss… things. I have not heard from him in a while, but… He would wear his own red and white gear and I’d wear my Theodore shirt and we’d get paired with random kids who had to listen to our discussions… It was a good time.”

She could only imagine.

“What happened to him?”

Otac shrugged, glancing down at the field, “I can’t be sure. He hadn’t heard from his Voice, despite everything, and then suddenly he was gone. I don’t know if he moved or joined them or what.”

She winced, hoping he didn’t notice, and her eyes flicked back down to Ryder. Would that be them one day? He’d reach hosting age and suddenly they’d never speak again? She’d never see or hear him again? The thought made her sick enough to politely refuse any snacks Otac offered, their absentminded conversations turning to the safe and irrelevant for the rest of the night…

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Redacre won. It was a close game, whatever that meant, which meant Ryder was buzzing with excitement when she met him outside the locker rooms.

“Fliss, hold these would you?”

She held out her hands to accept his piercings, which he systematically began to replace as they walked. Evidently, he hadn’t wanted to wait the fifteen minutes to put them back in before returning to boast.

“So, you get four chances to get far enough down the field and then they make you switch sides?”

“Yeah, they’re called ‘downs’.”

“America is the only place that I know where sports are like this. You are obsessed,” he looked between the two of them and Fliss held her hands up defensively.

“I’m Canadian.”

He looked to Ryder, who did the same, “I never cared about any of this ‘til I went out for the team. I’m learning as I go.”

“Okay, but why is it so about action in American sports? As much action as possible… You take the ball from a team if they’re not giving you enough action! Don’t you ever play just to have fun?”

Another shrug, “Football’s not the only sport we have, you know. We also have, like, basketball… And Jackie played volleyball and tennis and stuff.”

Otac rubbed his chin, considering it.

“Maybe I should try something. They’ve banned me from every sport with a racket, but I’m sure there’s other things I can do.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Ryder was trying to hide his amusement, “But I don’t think Football would be your sport. You’re tall, but they’d snap you like a twig.”

Fliss laughed despite herself, “I think you underestimate him. He’d tackle and punch someone and get kicked from this team, too.”

That got an eye roll, “I think that would be good for them, they’re wearing plenty of protection, they’d be fine.”

“Maybe cross country? There’s no contact there, just running.”

“I’m good at  _ that  _ at least,” he chuckled good-naturedly, “I guess I couldn’t get into  _ too  _ much trouble. But I don't think I could just...  _ run  _ for the sake of running."

“And you’d have more reason not to get detention,” she added quickly, grinning in amusement at his feigned shock, “Because apparently my telling you to act right isn’t enough.”

“I have to defend the nerds,” he held a hand to his chest, “Or else no one would. Perhaps chess club? Or I might try ballroom dancing again.”

He laughed at the two surprised faces he received.

"I used to dance back in Germany, don't look so shocked."

"I'd love to see that," she stated genuinely, "But... Chess club?  _ We're _ the nerds--" Ryder’s squawk of protest cut that quip short.

They walked quietly for a bit before Otac finally split off, heading toward his house. She waved, reminding him to get a good night’s sleep, which he waved off. Another exchange of waves and he disappeared behind his front door, leaving just the two of them once more.

“So what did you think?” Her attention immediately shifted again, focused entirely back on Ryder.

“It was… Fun? I would have preferred to be sitting with you but it was cool to watch you play. Why don’t you run that fast all the time?” She grinned, nudging his arm with her elbow. He nudged her back, a good-natured little jab.

“I’m glad you had fun though, it was nice to have you there cheering me on,” his eyes flicked to her shirt, “Maybe you wanna come to the next home game too?”

She grinned at his nervous smile, nudging him again, “Yeah, definitely, you big sap.”

He mumbled something and they fell into step silently on the sidewalk, leaving her to her thoughts once more. He looked… happy. At peace, glancing up at the sky, thinking about his night. She couldn’t help but enjoy seeing him in a good mood.

_ “I feel better… than I have… ever… here. They’ve given me something to live for… Something to die for, too.” _

Another unwanted memory, knowing that he was a year or so away from hosting age, but he had a point; if she, or anyone, wanted to help him they had to move quickly to try and give him something else to believe in or someone else to rely on or else he’d be… gone. They were getting close to his house and her mind was reeling now with the realization that within the year he could be a smiling drone and not the angry boy she was friends with.

“Hey,” she stopped him before he could drop her off outside her house, “One second, wait out here, okay?” He looked at her in surprise while she climbed up to her window, slipping into her bedroom to rifle through her stuff. When she dropped back down to the ground, she was holding a blank CD case.

“I don’t have a lot, but… I asked for some help to make this for you. This is the kind of stuff my grandfather listened to, so the stuff I listened to for most of my childhood… I thought it was right to share it with you since you shared your music with me. Let me know what you think?”

The look on his face made something in her chest flutter, the unfettered joy to see something that important to her just… freely handed to him.

“Yeah, definitely, I’ll give it a listen and let you know.”

One last grin and she watched him leave, loathe to turn and walk back into the house where Brenda or Todd no doubt waited to question her about her night and that ‘interesting Ryder boy’ until they went out for patrol. She would have preferred to accompany Ryder back to his house and let his parents worry over her and make sure she ate dinner. She wouldn’t have minded a little parenting that wasn’t as rife with an undertone of cultist brainwashing. But she needed to maintain appearances and that required her to pretend that she didn’t know her foster parents were Lucids. 

She glanced over her shoulder at his retreating form. Although… Maybe it didn’t hurt every once in a while to renew her grasp on an ordinary life before the things that really mattered slipped away.


	10. The Mask of Many Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interaction with THEE-I-DARE puts Fliss in a difficult position, causing some friction between her and Otackozoy, as well as her and Ryder. She makes a few impulsive decisions and can only hope that they don't come back to bite her later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off this interaction: https://docs.google.com/document/d/18Oe12MZjexI-vpw6o7n6zywJ1PhaYo0yVH7eZ8A3Z0Q/edit
> 
> Otackozoy and Ryder are property of their respective creators and are used with permission, as are the aspects of The Blackout Club used in this ongoing story...
> 
> I'm very excited to see what happens now that we head toward the climax of the story at large. Please enjoy and feel free to leave a comment! I love to hear thoughts and critique!

The mask was surprisingly warm in her hands. She couldn’t quite name the material, smooth to the touch and stronger than she might have expected. Despite the width of some of the pieces, it didn’t seem to bend, even now as she toyed with it anxiously. Her pack was set aside, the box she’d hidden her new relic in set beside it, the green paper nearly blending in with the grass. She’d begun to spend more time at this spot since building her first sacred fire here at the beginning of the year, a new spot for her to hide when the world became too much…

Over time she’d added a circle of stones and a few spots for her to sit; it had become a safe and comfortable space for her. The fire tonight wasn’t sacred, just something to keep her mind busy as she mulled over the events of the previous week, one in particular dominating the rest:

**WILL YOU DEVOTE FULLY TO LIBERTY?**

_THEE-I-DARE was asking Otackozoy to follow him. She glanced at the boy out of the corner of her eyes, watching him as they moved through the Nerve Center and into the Plexus._

_“You realize I’m a Chosen of Fliss?”_

_Khrin laughed, but she rolled her eyes, wondering when this had gone too far. A joke turned into something far more… Or perhaps it was just how he justified it._

_“I say do what feels right,” she murmured, raising her voice slightly to add, “ if you’re looking for my permission. That you do not need.”_

**AND THAT IS… A… CHOICE… OF A SORT**

_Maybe he found it amusing, a human following another human in the way that they would normally worship the daimons… She stared at the ‘lungs’ inhaling and exhaling, considering what a ridiculous concept it must have been to an entity so old._

_Her voice was low, impossible to hear in the cavernous Plexus, “It is… I guess…”_

_“It is… complicated at best,” he paused to glance at her, but she looked away just as quickly, “If liberty means loneliness, then no.”_

**IT CAN. NOT FOR ALL. TRADITIONALLY… FREE SPIRITS ATTRACT LIKE MINDS.**

_“And you’re afraid I might betray you?”_

_They had heard of another TID follower offering up name fragments to SPEAK-AS-ONE for information, so it was a valid question, but she was too lost in thought to really focus on it. She hoisted herself onto one of the platforms, eyes following various Sleepers. Who was the free spirit? Her? THEE-I-DARE? The three of them together? Was he suggesting they’d all been drawn together for that reason? Was this all the more surprising to him given her willingness to live in isolation?_

_The daimon had paused, seemingly in thought._

**BETRAYAL. OF COURSE. YOU ARE YOUNG**

**YET AT TIMES, MY FRIEND… I GROW SO WEARY OF WISE PARANOIA.**

_“So you chose to trust me?”_

**THE CHOICE OF WHOM TO TRUST… IS MEANINGLESS IF LEFT TO ROT.**

_“That goes over my head... I’m sorry.”_

_Another roll of her eyes and she was moving to stand before him. He was fidgety, all of this happening so quickly, and the Voices’ proclivity for dramatics didn’t help, so she placed her hands on his shoulders, holding him still so she could speak over all the noise._

_“He’s saying, if you have the choice...choosing to trust somebody means nothing if you don’t choose to trust anybody, “ she paused, then added, “Like having that choice does nothing if you don’t use it.”_

_Otac nodded in sudden understanding, “That’s an excellent point.”_

_She pursed her lips in thought, “And quickly, if you choose to trust anyone, Otac is a good choice.”_

_She swore she could see his face flush slightly, “You think?”_

_“I’ve trusted you for the past couple months and I’m still here.”_

_“Last I checked, there wasn’t a knife in my back,” they both jumped slightly, having forgotten Khrin was there, on the platform above them, looking down with a grin. Fliss let go of his shoulders, turning slightly to resume scanning the area._

_"Well…”_

**DO YOU WISH TO SHARE IT WITH FLISS?**

_“Again, this goes over my head I’m sorry.”_

_Fliss opened her mouth to explain yet again, but Khrin jumped in first._

_“Do you wish to trust Fliss, To put it simply-”_

_The answer was indignant, “Of course I trust Fliss!”_

_“-or share trust.”_

_“Seriously, I trust Fliss with my life.”_

_A dumb decision, really, but she couldn’t seem to convince him that she was just another kid trying to navigate this whole nightmare, the same as him. Besides, this was_ his _moment, the fruition of_ his _countless hours that he had sacrificed to try and help TID regain his strength. She was merely… someone to help detangle his thoughts when his theories began to intertwine and knot together. A friend, but not someone truly worth following._

**A BOND WITH ME, AND FLISS, TOGETHER?**

_She jumped in immediately this time, “He’s asking if you want to be chosen of him and me.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Otac was watching her carefully, even as he spoke to TID, “If that works, I will attempt. If Fliss accepts that.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You don’t need my permission,” she crossed her arms over her chest with a frown. It defeated the purpose if he was so bound by her opinions. He could make decisions for himself._

_He looked slightly guilty, “Well…”_

_“Better to ask still,” there was Khrin again._

_“Exactly.”_

_“It’s worth asking.”_

_‘Stop encouraging this!’ she wanted to shout, but she kept her mouth shut, instead moving to inspect something else, search another room._

**IF NOT, NO HARM. I UNDERSTAND.**

_“I accept.”_

_It had taken a lot of walking in circles, but finally this visit had reached its point. THEE-I-DARE had asked Otackozoy to follow him, to be Chosen, and he had accepted. TID thanked him, and her, despite her protests. Promised they had roles to play._

**THOUGH FLISS WALKS A STRANGER PATH**

**THERE IS HONOR IN HER CHOICE, TOO**

But was it just his adherence to choice that allowed him to support her decision? Was he even supporting her at all, or was he just biding his time until she came of age, when he’d insert himself into the back of her mind the same as any of the others? She physically recoiled at the thought, fingers tightening around the mask.

It was _so_ tempting to just… drop it into the fire. Watch it burn. See if the colors would rise up into the dusk sky just as they drifted across the face of it. They didn’t know what these did, what they truly signified. The other daimons… it was given to their most devout, their ‘Generals’, the Chosen few who would become the willing hosts of the future. Whether THEE-I-DARE was the same, or just trying to keep her off the radar for the others, it was too soon to tell and that made her nervous.

She held it out with one hand, feeling the weight of it, wondering if it was worth it to just release her grip and watch it fall… But she pulled it back and set it aside, collapsing onto a log and sighing as she picked up a stick to poke her fire.

“ _Again, I’m so sorry for dragging you into this.”_

_It wasn’t the first or last time Otackozoy would apologize to her. He’d texted her back the moment she told him to check his boxes, apologizing because he’d realized that she had gotten one as well._

_She turned the mask over in her hands, fingertips tracing the various curves of it, while her friend watched on, fidgeting anxiously. He held his own mask, the surprise apparent on his face as he stared down at hers. He had asked for this, yes, but he hadn’t expected anything else to come of it, certainly not a second mask being given._

_“I didn’t mean… I know you don’t follow…”_

_He seemed to be struggling for words, trying to gauge her feelings but unable to grasp them. She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could, not letting her emotions really show. The last thing she needed was to hurt her friend and make him second-guess himself anymore._

_“We’ll use it as a tool, nothing more and nothing less. He knows how I feel about it.”_

_He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he accepted her answer. For now. Fliss took his hands in hers, earning a slight jolt, but he didn’t pull away. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze_

_“You’re one of my best friends. If I was upset, I’d tell you, alright?” He was staring directly at her, almost through her, but she didn’t waver. She hadn’t been lying when she said she trusted him._

_“You trust me, right?”_

_There was no hesitation, “With my life.”_

_"Then trust me not to lie to you,” that was enough to make him relax for the moment. She smiled and he returned the gesture._

_“Besides, it’s a big night for you, you got something to show for how many weeks of hard work?” He shook his head, bashful, but she released his hands to gently shove his shoulder, “Just enjoy the moment and don’t worry about things we can’t control.”_

She didn’t think anyone knew; she had no intentions of broadcasting the development and putting herself in the situation where people could question her resolve to avoid hosting, and if she asked, no doubt Otac would keep it a secret for her as well.The thought of burning the mask crossed her mind again and she glanced down at it once more, nudging it with the toe of her boot.

Could THEE-I-DARE be watching her right now? What would he think of her inner turmoil? Did he really care? More importantly, did _she_ care what he thought? 

_Yes._

It was a bit shocking, but she had admitted to their alliance and it felt wrong to throw that all away like this, especially without talking to him first. Still, it was risky to keep this around when she had so many possible enemies who could find it…

Fliss stood without a word, kicking dirt onto her fire to put it out, waiting for the last embers to fade before she was retrieving her shovel, eyeing the circle. She could feel the heat rising as she pushed down with her foot, lifting the first bit of dirt and ash up and out, starting a pile off to the side.

She worked in silence, the night only punctuated by the sounds of the woods and her shovel breaking the earth and setting it aside until she had a hole wide and deep enough for her purposes. One last look, watching the colors dance across the surface, before she replaced the lid on the box, setting it into her hole. She wavered as she moved to cover it, a few bits of earth falling over it as her shovel hovered over the pit, before she relented and dumped it all back in, working to return her fire pit to its previous state…

If anyone looked, it was merely a circle of stones where fires were lit, the disturbed earth only pointing towards putting out and replacing fires and nothing more… It was safe…

Or so she thought, anyways.

* * *

A few days later and Fliss knew something was wrong.

Her friendship with Ryder had mostly revolved around spending time together, him talking and her listening, adding in quips when she saw fit, but as they walked out into the cool night air, she could hear nothing but the distant footsteps and ramblings of the town’s sleepwalking inhabitants. Not one anecdote, complaint, observation; no telling her that she was smart but lacked the common sense to join with the side that actually cared about her; no suggestions of music to listen to; no telling her to shut up when she teased him. 

It was unnerving to see him and not hear him, to watch his eyes dart away when he caught her watching. They took their photos, creeping through a dark house, before crawling down the stairway into the Maze, and finally she snapped.

“What’s wrong, Ryder?”

His eyes found hers, taken aback, and he didn’t respond immediately, as they crept along the hallway, past the lockers, into the booming nerve center. He shrugged one shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was an obvious lie, but the Nerve Center and upcoming Plexus made it practically impossible for the conversation to continue. Brows furrowed, she grabbed his hand and tugged it, jerking her head in the direction of Signal Relay, a respite from the noise and adults. Understanding, he nodded, albeit hesitantly, and they crept through the shadows, weaving past rebar and climbing the red carpeted platform into the room of monitors.

A thick blanket of static seemed to insulate them from the rest of the world, making it feel like it was just the two of them, alone, in this dark corner beneath the flickering monitors. He was avoiding her eyes again, but she stood right in front of him. Every time he tried to look away, she shifted in that direction to try and catch him again.

“Come on, Ryder, I know something’s up. You’ve been so quiet lately… Normally I can’t get you to shut up,” her tone was an attempt at playful and successful enough to earn a direct scowl, but he resisted her teasing.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he grumped, “Why can’t we just get the fucking mission done and go home already?”

Normally he _wanted_ to be out here, to watch over them (over _her_ ), just another bit of evidence. He really was a terrible liar, at least when you knew him well enough. Her brows lifted now, arms crossed over her chest.

“What happened to ‘babysitting’ me? I thought you always wanted to be out here to keep an eye on us ‘dumb kids’. The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” she reached out to poke him in the side, earning another scowl as he tried to bat her away.

“The fuck does _that_ mean?” 

“It’s from Hamlet, you know, what we’re reading in English? You _really_ need to pay better attention in class, I can’t keep carrying us through _everything.”_

Another attempt at humor, trying to lighten the mood and get him to open up, and she now attempted to poke him with both hands. He darted away from her, scowl deepening into actual anger, his hands catching hers defensively and squeezing. Not enough to bruise, but certainly harder than she expected.

His voice was a hiss, injected with venom, “Stop it, just go joke around with your _new pal_ and leave me alone.”

Fliss stopped dead in her tracks, arms going limp in his grasp. He was staring her down now, no longer avoiding the subject now that it was out in the open. She didn’t want to believe that he knew what happened ( _she’d been so careful, she hadn’t told_ **_anyone_ **), but there wasn’t much else he could feasibly be referring to. She swallowed and gently tried to pull her hands away, but he didn’t budge.

“I don’t have any ‘new pals’,” it wasn’t a lie, but she knew it was weak all the same, “What are you talking about?”

His nose wrinkled, as if the mere thought was something nasty he wanted to wash away, “Your _new pal, THEE-I-DARE,”_ the venom in his words increased tenfold, but a tinge of hurt undercut it, **“** He marked you, gave you something to show everyone that you were on his side, and you _didn’t tell me.”_

It pained him to admit it, just as it pained her to consider how long he’d known. Someone must have heard her talking with Otac, or seen before she could hide it, and from there… rumors spread quickly in such a small town. He dropped her hands, satisfied with her stunned silence, and took a step back towards the doorway to the Plexus, angling his body to turn and leave.

She wasn’t thinking when she lunged forward, she just knew that this conversation couldn’t end like that. Fliss caught his forearm and tugged, but he could have easily pulled away. Instead, he reluctantly allowed her to pull him back beneath the monitors, waiting for her explanation.

“I wasn’t sure _what_ to tell you,” she admitted, struggling once more to catch his eyes, “I just… I wanted to wait until I knew what to say, it was just… sudden. I didn’t ask for it or want it... I’m sorry.” 

He was silent, apparently not convinced, and her free hand lifted to cup his cheek, tilting his head to look at her, glad for the low light, “I mean it, Ryder… I’m-- I’m sorry... What can I do to make this right?”

Ryder paused, eyes sliding down her face before glancing away, voice low, “I’m not mad at you.”

She recoiled slightly in surprise, “You’re not?”

“I’m not. I’m mad at that _asshole_ ,” he was seething again, fists clenching, “How many times have you said you don’t want anything to do with the Voices and what does he do? His actions speak louder than any kind of bullshit sympathy he tries to show for you.”

A weight she hadn’t realized was there lifted from her chest as he finally looked at her, willingly meeting her gaze. 

“Well… I’m not joining him. You know that, right?” he nodded, “And I was going to tell you, I just… didn’t know _how_ …”

His arm twisted slightly and he took the hand from his forearm, giving her wrist a look.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He shook his head before looking away, one cheek puffed in a pout, “I’m… Sorry. It freaked me out. _I didn’t want him to take anyone else I care about._ ”

The last bit was so quiet she wasn’t sure she really heard it, but the bashful look on his face and the way he dropped her hand told her that she had. They both went quiet, an air of awkwardness hanging between them as they both conspicuously faced the monitors rather than look at each other. After a long pause, she finally broke the silence, unsure of what insanity prompted her to say:

“I destroyed it.”

_“What?”_

He was looking at her, she could see from the corner of her eyes.

“I destroyed it. The mask.”

The lie slipped from her tongue far more easily than it had any right to. It felt wrong to tell him this, but something in her brain was working, making the gears turn. Truly, _no one_ knew what she’d done with it, so she could _hypothetically_ say that it was gone, and it would make him feel better… She tilted her head in his direction, noting that he had turned to face her fully.

“You destroyed-- What? How?” He sounded breathless, almost giddy, with the thought. His wide eyes betrayed his elation, the hope that she had finally ‘come to her senses’. It was bittersweet to think that her lie had caused it.

“I burned it.”

“I mean… Fuck, that’s fitting, but… _Fuck_ , that’s the smartest thing you could have done, I can’t believe--” He seemed to search for the words but couldn’t find them, “I can’t believe you’d _do_ that.”

“You know how I feel about them, the Voices… I didn’t want that. I… I hate how much I have to rely on them… I just want to stop the Hunter and then _leave_ …” She watched his hand twitch, almost like he wanted to reach out to her again, but he resisted. 

“Do you really think the Pact can stop him?” Evidently, the wheels were turning in Ryder’s head, too. He was watching her intently now.

“No,” _Not on their own. Not with only the information they have. If they could get SPEAK-AS-ONE’s research too…_ But she couldn’t say it, something told her _not to_ say it.

“You’re damn right they can’t. He’ll just chew them up like dog toys. SPEAK-AS-ONE, though…” She turned to face him, stepping closer, their noses mere inches apart, “Remember your plan? The one I told you was fucking stupid?”

She scoffed, but nodded.

“Well… The… Sadversary said you’d need his Old Tongue name to bind him,” he paused for dramatic effect, voice lowering again, “They know it. They know his name. Maybe… Maybe _they_ could help you. If you’re willing to ask for their help.”

She saw it coming, Ryder had been trying to win her over to their side since LAUGH-LAST had revealed his inclinations and she had told him she wouldn’t out him to the Club. Over time he’d become more insistent and less subtle, so this didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her was her own response:

Fliss rubbed her arm, looking away in embarrassment, “I’ve never really… talked to them before. I don’t think they really care about me… And they definitely don’t _like_ me.” 

“Bullshit, would they really have built this whole town and brought you here if they didn’t care? I think you’re just… I dunno, you’ve just been hanging around the wrong people.”

_Don’t encourage this, he must know that you don’t want to join, that you couldn’t give up your individuality and free will. It’s wrong to lead him on like that. Stop it. Even for information, even for the Hunter’s name, so you can bind him… You can’t use him like that._

“The last few lights I sent were… Kind of angry… I may have challenged my Watcher… You know, for my bad luck with Lucids,” she shrugged and he shook his head again, a hand creeping up to touch her shoulder.

“Just apologize, tell them you’re willing to cooperate,” the way his eyes shone with relief, thinking that he was finally saving her from the world, it made her stomach churn, “I’m sure they’ll accept you. They have to.”

“If I send them an apology… Will you be there with me? Listen in?”

He beamed in a smile she couldn’t remember ever seeing before, “Hell yeah. I’ll send one too, let them know you’re legit.” 

Seeing Ryder like this made her want to break, shake her head, and apologize. How could he not see through this? Why hadn’t he called her out yet? Instead, she sagged her shoulders in mock relief, giving him her own ghost of a smile.

“Thanks, Ryder… That means… That means a lot to me. But.. Okay, just… I’m giving them a chance, not joining just yet, okay? I don’t trust them.”

“Fair, but… They’re the only ones who don’t lie, they’ve been straight-up since the start, how can you not trust them?”

Fliss looked up at the monitors, watching the sleepwalkers meander down the streets, the different houses and buildings that were constantly being watched, then back to her friend, who followed her gaze.

“Ah.”

“But you know what, Ryder, I may not trust them, but I trust _you_ . I know you want the best for me,” _it’s what I’m counting on_ , “and I’m willing to give that a shot.” 

He seemed to accept that without question; it was half true. Another beat and he was turning back to the doorway, hand sliding down her arm to take hers, pulling her along. She followed, glancing up at the ceiling as if she could see invisible forces watching her, staring down at her. Watchers? Voices? Angels? Spirits? It was impossible to tell.

 _I hope you appreciate this, THEE-I-DARE. You invented the lie, and now I’m using it to help you and your pact_ , she grit her teeth, _But at the expense of my friendship_ . _I hate it. I hate how easy it is. I hate that I’m using him and he’ll hate me if he ever finds out… I just hope it’s worth it._

“Come on, let’s finish this mission and go home..” He wasn’t looking at her, couldn’t see the pain in her expression, “We got some shit to do.”


	11. Treat Me the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another encounter with 'Grandmother', Fliss attempts to get her friend to reconsider joining SAO... Or at least consider a backup plan in case he has regrets. A shorter chapter, but an attempt to get back in the swing of writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based upon this encounter with Wayka Wellesley, the Isolated Watcher: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1QwgiQSTHsVw6OQACv394VeCA-pKZRE70od1rMXm3ugY/edit
> 
> The Mixed Tape Fliss made for Ryder: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtPpb5-_gRKb9cM5GojCARBBHPhTB0mY4
> 
> Ryder belongs to Oxenfree and was used with permission.

_One cold, autumn morning in a low valley a great, gray stone sat covered with dew. The rock was very old and had sat there for many, many moons. It had seen the passing of many animals and many seasons but this day as Niskam heated the rock and the dew rose as a mist from it Niskam decided to give life to this rock. So as the rock grew hotter and the steam from the dew hovered over it this one old rock was given the body of an old, old woman. This was Nukumi._

Her head had been swimming since the old woman had come to speak with her about the story. She had so many questions about ‘sundown’, about what Wayka was, how she fit into the scope of Voice or Human, or something else entirely, but all she could think to ask about was the traitor, information only Bells had. And to offer her help. Her rotten luck with the Dead Skeptics aside, she had never wanted to side with the Voices, even if THEE-I-DARE and the Pact had good intentions. But this… This was something entirely different. 

_Kluskap had been watching the birds and the plants and the animals and learning all he could. Now there came a day as he traveled that he wandered into this valley and there he met Nukumi. As Kluskap talked to Nukumi he realized how much wisdom she had and he wanted to learn all that he could from her. Nukumi explained that she would be happy to be his grandmother and share her wisdom but as an old woman meat was necessary for her. She could not live only on plants and berries._

Fliss and Ryder laid side by side, her mixed cassette droning in the background, one of those old blues singers her grandfather had loved to listen to in his truck. She’d made the cassette for Ryder as a gift, a thank you for his CD. While he’d listened to some of it on his own, it was different to listen to it with her soft commentary, stories of her grandfather tapping on his steering wheel, warbling along with the slow, sad lyrics, giving her a wink if she mentioned that he was a relatively happy person, married and with a family, unlike all these songs. 

“It’s about the strength of the emotions,” he’d tried to explain, “Not the emotions themselves… They put all of themselves into these songs. That’s why they’re so powerful.” She was never sure if it was a Mi’kmaq thing or just a ‘Remi thing’, as her grandmother would call it, but now that she was older, had experienced her own share of deep emotions… She got it. 

Looking to Ryder now, sitting with him in the corner he’d piled cushions and blankets she’d come to think of as his ‘nest’, with his eyes closed as he listened… She understood it more than ever. 

**in that story. i am not the grandmother.**

**in that story. i am the meat. offered up.**

Fliss could see what Wayka did, what Ryder could not, that SPEAK-AS-ONE only ever wanted more and more and would never be satisfied with their followers or with Redacre alone. No matter how they spun sweet words to coax the naive and hopeful into believing they were truly creating a utopia, it wasn’t enough; they were just as greedy as the humanity they despised, that her friend cursed and wished to transcend.

**and they want it just as willing.**

She shuddered, thinking about where she’d fall in this grand scheme if she hadn’t come to terms with her lifetime of sorrows, if she hadn’t begun to channel her strong emotions into something beautiful, like the sounds of the old guitars running through the magnetic tape. Ryder’s elbow nudged her slightly. He was looking at her, evidently having felt her shiver. She glanced up, meeting his gaze and giving him a reassuring smile. He seemed to accept it, but kept his eyes on her.

_Kluskap was so happy to have a grandmother that he called to Marten swimming in the river. He asked Marten if he would give his life so that Kluskap's grandmother could live. All of the animals were friend to Kluskap and Marten said he would do this for his friend. Now Kluskap told Marten that for this sacrifice he would make Marten his brother. So Nukumi snapped Marten's neck and placed him on the ground but Kluskap felt so bad that he called to Kisúlkw to return Marten to life._

“Ryder,” she could hear herself speaking in the pause between songs, whisper breaking the silence, “I talked with Wayka yesterday.”

She could feel the tension build in him, his entire body stiffening as he considered her words, before he forced himself to loosen, turning his head lightly to stare at something in the distance.

“Please stop.”

“No,” Fliss’ voice was firm, “We need to talk about this. She was a part of _them_ once. She gave herself to them, willingly, and you know how she feels now that she looks back at it all? With regret. Says she thought she could sustain them but that they just… take.”

She paused a moment, feeling him slipping away from this conversation, just another of their many arguments, but it was more than that. She lifted one hand, turning his chin to look at her, expression intense. He tried to turn back, but only half-heartedly, mouth curled.

“I’m not telling you not to do it. I’m just telling you that it’s possible to get involved in something and then have regrets. I just want you to think… About a backup plan? Some way you can get out if things don’t go how you expect them to?”

_Now Nukumi used her wisdom to speak with Kisúlkw and Marten was brought back to life so he could return to his river but where he lay on the ground was the body of another marten. Nukumi told Kluskap that from this point the animals would be brother and friend to Kluskap. They would be there willing to provide food and clothing, shelter and tools but always they must be treated with the respect given a brother and friend because they would only be there to provide what is necessary for life. Marten will always be the first of Kluskap's friends._

‘In case they don’t treat you as a brother and friend,’ she reached for one of his hands, taking it in hers and giving it a soft squeeze, ‘I don’t have Kisúlkw to help me bring you back if they take you.’ 

He seemed to consider it for a moment, all too aware that she had his back against the wall. He was cornered, literally, but she couldn’t take any chances, not as their hosting ages approached. 

“ _Fine,”_ he finally bit, like the word tasted bitter on his tongue, “Fine.” 

He took her hand in both of his, gently cupping it as if it were delicate and not the roughened fingers of a hunter and troublemaker. She wished she could see what was going through his head, help him sort through the clutter and find his way to the best answer for any of these questions, teenage life made all the harder by incorporeal entities and their damned wars. She hated them for it, most times, even the one she called an ‘ally’ at times. They settled back into silence, the song fading into another, one with a strong guitar to start. Joe Carter and his something something, she didn’t remember most of their names but this one her grandfather rarely sang along to, instead listening to the raw pain in Joe Carter’s voice and the strumming of the guitar and the lowing of the bass. 

A snuffle is the first sign that something is wrong. Just a tiny sound, the kind when someone has a stuffy nose but is trying to breathe through it anyways. Then a low sob, the mouth open just enough to get air, but trying not to make any more noise. Fliss had seen her friend cry before, just once, but it was enough to know what was happening. She reached out with her free hand, one thumb brushing across his cheek to wipe the first of the tears away, but that seemed to remind him that she was there. Seeing him. 

His face pinched up and his even breaths broke out of his control, recoiling as if her touch burned him. She pulled away but not quickly enough as he brought his knees up to his chest. It was an indirect way to push her away without actually shoving her… Without speaking, he shoved his face into the nearest pillow, turned himself so he wouldn’t have to face her.

And she let him. It didn’t take much to realize she’d pushed past his boundaries in a way he wasn’t ready for but… He was practically choosing to dive headfirst into something that would chew him up and spit him out as another watcher, lacking everything but what the Voice deemed ‘truthful’, it was necessary to _push._ But she simply pulled herself from the nest, sitting on the edge of it, staring at something without really seeing it. 

**the others cast you out, is it?**

**or perhaps the other way around.**

Wayka wasn’t wrong in her assessment. The club, the Dead Skeptics, THEE-I-DARE, the people in Indian Brook… Even if she wasn’t cast out, in almost all cases she ended up pushing people away… But not anymore. She’d given that up when she decided to stay in Redacre, not run away again like she was so apt to do.

A long time passed, enough that the tape ran out and the light at the window was just that much fainter. She saw the movement from her periphery, heard the slight rustle on her good side. He looked like he didn’t want to be there, like he didn’t want her there, but rather than speak he simply reached his hand out near her. She didn’t hide her concern, looking just as tired as he did, but placed her hand beside his, knowing that he’d close the gap if he wanted to. 

And he did. His hand lifted to rest lightly against hers, not quite holding it but just… touching. His voice was rough, nearly too quiet for her to hear, but he’d positioned himself so she could see his mouth move. 

After a long silence, he did speak. Careful with his words, he closed his eyes, even though it wouldn't hide his words from being heard.

"I don't like her," he said, and that was true, easy to admit, and made perfect sense. She was forcing him to reevaluate everything he thought was true.

"I don't want her to hurt the Watchers. I don't want the... I don't want the Voice to hurt them, either. I want to help them... I don’t know what else to say,” he exhaled with a sigh that made him look like a flower about to wilt. 

“I get that... I just... It’s something I want you to at least consider,” she didn’t get closer, not wanting to infringe on his space again, “I didn’t mean to... I don’t want to see you hurt and I hope that when you make a decision... You at least keep it in mind...”

“I said fine,” his voice had that steel in it, a sign he was still grumpy about it all, but it was better than not talking at all. She tilted her head slightly and scooched closer, turning her hand to intertwine her fingers with his.

“That’s all I need.”

_Kluskap asked Robin to fly to the place where the lightning had hit the ground to give Kluskap life, and bring the sparks that were there to him. Robin flew to the place but he had to use two dry sticks to carry the sparks because they were so hot. As he flew the wind caused the sticks to burn and robin's breast turned red. Still he brought the fire to Kluskap and Nukumi put more wood on this fire and Niskam breathed on the sparks so that they burned the wood and created the Great Spirit Fire. But all robins after this had red breasts and when two dry sticks are rubbed together they make fire._

_So the first meat was cooked over fire and Kluskap and his grandmother started their time together. Kluskap would help his grandmother survive and she would share her wisdom and knowledge with him._

**there. a friend. falling. that, i feel.**

**you cannot help me. yet. but…**

**i will remember this offer.**


End file.
